Tranquility
by Konous the grey
Summary: The Rite takes away many things: it takes away our emotions, our desires, our dreams, even our Magic. What it does not take away are our Memories and our Identity. Those are unchanged. -Owain
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age: Origins, it is the property of Bioware.

Tranquility: Ch. 1 Something I Would Do

The Harrowing Chamber is just as Alim remembers from his Harrowing. The high arching ceiling, the wide circular stone floor, all of it etched with the inane markings that predate the Avvar tribesmen who once occupied Ferelden and built the Tower. In the past he had pondered on the meanings of the runes, no where found, even in the records of Tevinter scrolls from over a millenia ago or the archived letters of the dwarves. It used to frustrate him to no end that these carvings were ignored by The Circle of Magi, that as scholars they left the origin of the very tower which they lived in to complete secrecy of the unknown.

The Chamber would have haunted his thoughts, the mystery of who built the tower unsolved would have driven him mad, if he had the ability to feel haunted anymore.

"She's been gone in the Fade far too long, Irving." Gregoir paces back and forth, his heavy plate armor ringing on the cold stone floor.

"Be patient, Gregoir. Others have taken far longer than she has." Irving hovers to the left of Solona Amell, as though his presence next to the girl will compell Gregoir to stay his blade if she takes any longer.

"That is not the point!" The Knight Commander turns about heel and looks deep into Irving's eyes. "She is your star pupil, your second of which, and she has been in The Fade too long. Something has happened."

Irving gestures for his Templar compatriot to give him space. "I know you are feeling anxious, Gregoir but we must have faith that Solona will-"

Irving does not finish his sentence as a blinding light erupts from Solona and shoves the two heads of the Circle Tower to the floor. The dust and smoke clears and in Solona's place is hulking horror, an abomination, where the beautiful magess once sat. It raises its head and from the vacant eyes of the woman wrapped in macbre flesh and sinew, the mouth opens to let out a horrifying roar. "Auuuuuuuuuuuugggggggghhhhh!"

"Abomination!" Gregoir shouts and raises his greatsword. He swings a heavy horizontal arc to the side of the beats bulbous body.

A raised hand from the monster stays Gregoir's blade mid swing. The Templar struggles to pull the blade from an invisible grasp to no avail.

"Damn you!" The Knight Commander growls.

A sound from deep within the monster's body which could have been mistaken for a laugh, rises up from the throat and jiggles the writhing flesh of the creature. It raises its other hand and Gregoir sails across the room like a rag doll, hitting the far wall. The greatsword clattes to the ground at its feet. It stalks forward, hands in motion to cast another spell on the fallen Templar.

"Solona!"

The sounds of Irving's voice distracts the creature from its current prey. It turns around in time to be hit with _Stone Fist _to the face followedby _Lightning_ and _Winter's Grasp_, yet still it stands and moves towards Irving at an even pace.

"Die, demon!" Irving backs away from the monster, casting every single target spell he can muster. His specialty however had always lain in the _Spirit_ and _Creation_ schools and his spells continue to have no effect. In his hands he gathers a ball of spirit energy and imagines wrapping it about the abomination. "Hurrrah!" Letting his _Crushing Prison_ come full force down on the monster. His face cannot contain his surprise as Irving falls back a step when the monster shrugs it off.

When Solona reaches him, it grasps Irving's throat between its clawed hands and lifts him into the air.

The First Enchanter grips the claws around his throat and lets out a horse cough, muddled with spit and flegm and blood. He looks into the eyes of his formal pupil; he looks for any sign of the girl he helped raise from the time she was a child. All he sees in the eyes of the beast is not some deep seeded rage, but _pride_. "Solona, please." Irving begs.

The abomination's grip tightens.

A ringing rush of air cuts through all sound. A brief moment of silence following it, the smell of open flesh and dripping demonic ichor.

The abomination drops Irving, who lands on the ground uncerimoniously on his back and hits his head. The beast twists around, spasming as it turns it's head a hundred and eighty degrees, and stares at the impish figure standing behind it.

Alim Surana's face is unflinching as he shoves Gregoir's greatsword deeper into the abominations back. The blade drips with the blood of the beast running down its length and falling to the floor at the hilt.

The creature gurgles from inside itself and grips the point of the blade and shoves it out of its body. It hobbles to turn around and face Alim, head rotating back into place. It's yellow eyes look into Alim's as though it is searching for a reason why. Why, for this...betrayal?

Alim's face does not flinch at the abominations accusations. Instead he lift up Gregoir's greatsword and swings.

The creature does not stop it and the blade acts as more a slab of metal than a sharpened wedge and knocks Solona down as it cuts open the body in a shower of blood.

Alim looks down. Some of the blood got on his shoes.

Gregoir and Irving rouse themselves from the floor and hobble over to the abomination's corpse.

"Another mage succumbs to temptation." Gregoir says and frowns at the body.

"Solona falling to the demons is a...disheartening event. I will inform the other apprentices. They'll want to hear the circumstances from me. Solona was much loved in the Circle."

"Indeed. But it seems that love went over her head. She should have been more aware of her emotions and her pride." Gregoir finally turns to Alim. "Thankfully, at least one of our pupils has learned that lesson, even if it required such drastic measures. Alim, thank you."

"It was something I would do, Knight Commander. Solona was my friend as well, before my Rite. I would have wanted this."

"All the same, thank you." Gregoir reaches out for his sword and Alim returns to the blade to the Knight Commander's hands. "I will call for Cullen to clean this up." Gregoir motions for Irving to follow him.

"We are lucky she was just an apprentice. A pride demon possessing a full powered mage could be...unstoppable." Irving hobbles next to his compatriot.

"Never a better reason for the Harrowing has there ever been, Irving. She may have succumbed later in life, when her power was greater, then what?"

"I...do not want to think about that." The two men's voices fade as they step down out the chamber. When the door closes it is just Alim in the room, Alim and the abomination Solona.

He looks down at the corpse. Beneath the interwoven flesh and tendrills, he can still see Solona's face. "I would tell you that I am sorry, Solona, but I cannot say for certain whether or not I actually would be were I not as I am now." He looks at the room, logic would tell him this would be the last time he would come here and the last chance he would get to pay his respects to someone he called a friend. A woman he loved, Tranquil or not, the past is the past and it is irrefutable, whether we wish it or not. "But I will keep your memory, Solona, along with all the rest of my life before The Rite. I will not forget." He walks away from Solona, leaving her for Cullen. Before he steps out of The Harrowing chamber and closes the door, he looks down at his shoes and wipes the blood off of them at the steps.

{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}

"And take heart children, know that though we have lost one of our kind to the demons, know that we will not forget her. Though now she walks in The Fade, unable to find her way, know that we cannot forget what we have learned from her." Wynne's voice rises above the quiet tears and open sobs of her fellow Mages, a large body of Apprentices inside the pews, who have come to pay their respects to a friend. No, a loved one.

No body, Cullen had only just disposed of it when the sermon began. Just a small podium, the statue of Andraste, The Knight Commander Gregoir, First Enchanter Irving, The Revered Mother, and Enchanter Wynne holding a funeral inside The Circle Chantry. Solona's corpse would have been taken from the Harrowing Chamber and burned. From his place in the back of the Chantry, Alim can see all those in attendance. While most are Mages, a few Templars have taken places within the congregation, kneeling in prayer.

"We cannot change what has happened. Our world is one that moves forward, whether we could use all our combined power to stop it, even for just a second, we will never have the power to reverse time. So we must press on, but this does not mean we forget." Swaying her right hand and resting heavy on her left, every stance and action carries the experience of an Enchanter who has had to give this speech more than once, but her voice holds no sense of imitation.

Alim though spends much of his time in The Circle at The Chantry now. He is well aware that before his Rite, lighting the fires and changing the candles for a religion that opresses his people, both of his people, would have infuriated him. He likely would take the candles and try to light the tapestries on fire to a prove a point to himself that this sort of placidity was not acceptable. On the other hand, he is aware that he is no longer who he was before, despite his vivid memories attatched to every part of The Circle, every part that is, except for The Chantry.

"No, we remember. We remember and we honor the memory of those who have past by continuing to move forward." The old woman's voice is sombre because as many know of her life and adventures, Wynne has had to move forward for a long time. A few in the audience wonder how much longer she has.

Alim is also well aware that there were never this many people in attendance for his "funeral." Technically he isn't dead, he knows, but he also knows that most in the Tower would consider his fate worse.

"Let us rejoice, and know that one day, we will be together again with The Maker." As Wynne steps off of the pedestal there are a few quiet nods, mostly from the Templars, and the deafening applause of his fellow Mages.

As Wynne moves to the back beside Alim, the Revered Mother of The Chantry takes the podium. "Thank you, Wynne, that was a beautiful eulogy." The Revered Mother of The Circle is just barely passing thirty and the youngest Revered Mother in the Circles history, and no stranger to the rumors this fact brought to her, and as such, a tad fiercer in her faith and reverence. "But I would like to take this time to acknowledge that until The Maker turns his gaze back upon the world, that Solona Amell, for breaking the first rule of magic will wander The Fade as all Maleficarum do."

Wynne sighs and leans to Alim. "She has to take every positive note I try to spin on a dead woman's mistake to remind us of our cardinal sin," she whispers.

Alim shrugs his shoulders and crosses his arms. "You tried to revitalize hope in broken people. You should know by now The Chantry frowns upon such things."

"The Chantry does not frown upon hope, Alim. They frown upon false witness."

"Well, as a Mage, Wynne, you would be the falsest witness possible."

The Revered Mother is now reciting The Maker's Commandments of Transfigurations. "Magic exists to serve man..." The crowd, The Mages and Templars, repeat after her.

Wynne frowns. "I wonder why she bothered to let me speak in the first place then."

Alim shrugs once more. "Irving broke the news, you've always been known as the most proficient healer in The Circle so it makes sense for The Chantry to use you as damage control."

Wynne shakes her head. "Sometimes it embitters me so that even with the death of such a loved pupil that there must be so much hidden politicing behind our actions."

"They shall be named Maleficar, accursed ones. They shall find no rest in this world or beyond." The Revered Mothers words draw nods of ascent from The Templars and a select few of The Mages.

Wynne looks down at the ground. "Sometimes I feel like we toy with our students. Using their hopes and dreams to lead them on, hoping we are guiding them on a righteous path."

"Lying for a good purpose." Alim smirks at his old teacher. "And other times?" Alim raises an eye brow.

Wynne cranes her head at Alim. "Other times, I wonder if you were ever truly Tranquilized, Alim Surana." Her eyes scrutenize her old pupil's face. It is a blank slate, despite his smirk, the rest of his face is inert, as if he uses the barest muscles possible to produce the roguish smile.

Alim's smirk expands and the rest of his face comes alive, alive as a puppets. Wynne can see the open listlessness of his eyes. "Imitation isn't difficult."

"No it isn't. But I don't see you imitating the others in this room, bowing your head or crying dragon's tears to fit in with the scene."

Alim looks at the faces of the assembled congregation. The irony of his life is that he is now more familiar with the Templars than he is with Mages. Cullen is in the front; despite looking at the back of his head, Alim recognises the short cut tossled hair of his training partner. Once he became Tranquil, Gregoir had seen no reason to restrict his weapons training, though he had requested many times while he was a Mage. Cullen had been open minded about Alim's state and even sympathetic to his punishment. More open minded than his classmates had been. Watching the Templar, with his head in his hands, the Tranquil elf roves his eyes to other subjects. He recognizes most of his old class mates, none of which had performed their Harrowing, yet. "I see no purpose in crying. I can't feel love anymore, though I know I would have been with the rest of them. Solona and I were close."

"Very close, as I recall. Until your Rite."

The Revered Mother is now holding her hands in the air and raising the fervor of her speech. "Those who bear fale witness..."

"She just mentioned you."

Wynne snorts. "What I said was not deception. If The Maker returns his gaze on the world, if we prove ourselves worthy, then even Solona will be forgiven."

Alim snorts in return. "If he forgives Solona for failing a rigged test, I'd like to ask him to forgive me for trying to pass it."

"Passing it would have been fine, Alim. But you chose to do so through forbidden methods."

"Forbidden methods I knew from the days I was small; forbidden methods housed right in The Circle Library." What should have been a laugh, comes out of Alim's throat more as a strangulation of interspersed air. "I will never submit, Wynne. Not like Owain, that was a promise I made to myself before I underwent The Rite."

Wynne shakes her head. "Then, what? You're determined to fight against your fate until the day you die?"

"Determination is not an emotion, but a trait of personality." Like a puppet's, his mouth simply moves up and down, there is no gesticulation of the lips.  
"So is arrogance, Alim. What you were doing was Evil, pure and simple. You should be thankful the Templars let you off as you are now."

"Thanks would imply I could be happy about my situation."

"The other options, Alim, were execution or to be sent to Aeonar!" Wynne, hisses, and turns to face her old student and stares him in the eyes. "You got off lucky."

Alim does not retreat from the old woman's gaze. "Evil is not an emotion either, Wynne."

The Revered Mother ends her sermon. "Thank you all for coming. I have been told by both The First Enchanter and The Knight Commander that the rest of the day may be spent in contemplation. And please, if you have need of counseling, do not hesitate to ask either me or one of the initiate Sisters or Brothers."

As the congregation files out of the room, Alim and Wynne continue to stare each other down, until a deep throated cough ends their stalemate.

"Wynne," Irving says standing to the side, looking back and forth between the two Mages. "I would like to speak with you in my office. It concerns our...visitor."

Wynne nods to Irving and looks back to her former pupil.

Alim is still staring at her.

"For what it is worth Alim, I'm sorry that you had to kill Solona, but I don't think you could ever understand what being sorry means, before or after your Rite." Wynne breaks from her old student and follows Irving out of the congregation hall along with the rest of The Circle.

In minutes it is just Alim, The Revered Mother and the initiate Brothers and Sisters and soon even they file out, leaving the elven Tranquil alone with the candles and the statue of Andraste in the dark.

Alim sits down on a bench, facing Andraste, and closes his eyes. Tranquil need no beds. Beds are wanted because they are comfortable, comfort brings you pleasure, pleasure you desire.

He desires nothing anymore.

)()()()()()()()()()()()()()(

The sound of sobs ends his meditation. Alim's eyes snap open to the statue of Andraste. Underneath her outstretched arms, facing it, a Mage in Apprentice robes is kneeling before the altar. The candles have all but burned out, in the shadows he can barely see the head of the Mage, but he knows it is male from the shape.

Without making a sound, Alim shuffles closer to the Apprentice, stepping up to the podium where the statue rests and stopping behind the Apprentice. "Curfew was several hours ago."

The sobs stop and the Mage freezes. "A-Alim?"

"Jowan. Why are you out here this late?" The elf whispers.

Jowan slowly rises up and turns about to face his old classmate. "I-I needed a place to...seek comfort."

"For Solona's death?" The elf turns about and stares at the outside hallway. The torches outside The Chantry are lit and the distant sound of metal feet rings in the air.

"Uh, yes. And for other reasons." Jowan looks down at the ground. "Oh, Alim..." Tears well up in The Mages eyes. "They just killed her. The Templars, they just killed her. She failed and they didn't spare her a glance."

Alim stays silent. He didn't object at the funeral, he wouldn't now. The footsteps are getting louder.

"If Solona couldn't pass, what chance do I have, Alim?" Jowan is holding his head in his hands breathing through mucus and spasms.

Alim turns to the hallway, the footsteps now are within muttering distance. "He couldn't have come at a worse time, Irving." Gregoir.

With the speed and bluntness of a bronto, Alim grabs Jowan by the face to silence his breathing. He pulls the Apprentice to the ground and kneels as close as he can to the floor. Alim holds a finger to his mouth.

Jowan's eyes in the dark are now quaking with fear and falling water.

"I specifically told him in a missive last month that Solona would have made an excellent addition to their ranks." The First Enchanter moves past the first Chantry entrance with Gregoir shortly behind.

"You gave the girl far too much credit, Irving. And, perhaps, not enough counseling to the other." Gregoir stops a moment, peering into the dark.

Jowan is now spasming and shaking.

"Be calm," Alim mouths in the dark, releasing his hand letting the Mage breathe in slowly. He shifts his position on the podium to block Jowan's movements. His shoes do not scrape against the rough wood, as though frictionless.

The Knight Commander stares at the statue of Andraste. He bows his head and moves on to follow Irving.

"Alim was always rebellious, Gregoir. He resented us from the day he came here. Perhaps,...with good reason." Irving stops at the second entrance in front of the torch.

"There is no one more than I who regrets what happened to the boy, both in how he came here or his Rite." Gregoir moves past The First Enchanter and turns around.

"Do you say that just to make yourself feel better about killing his father and his clan?" Irving crosses his arms. "Or because he continued to practice the magics his father had taught him from the time he was a child?"

"Do not question me, Irving, not in this! I take an open minded approach to magic compared to most Knight Commanders. You should see Kirkwall and what Meredith does there. Tranquil, scores of them walk The Gallows." Gregoir raises his arm as though he is wading through a sea of Tranquil.

"Yes, but Alim's clan, The Dalish clans, do not fall under Chantry rules of magic."

"Blood Magic is Evil, Irving. No matter who uses it and to teach it to a child is to damn them to walk The Fade for eternity. To use innocence to create a monster. I was trying save the boy, Irving, even then!" Gregoir shakes his gauntleted fist at his contemporary.

"You think you have saved him?"

Gregoir's fist falls to his side. "I think I failed him. But, I think he has taken that failure and turned it into a strength. My recommendation stands."

"I see. And what of Jowan?

"What of him?"

"You wish to perform the Rite tomorrow?"

"No...I...would prefer it if we did it after our visitor leaves."

"I see." Irving moves past the Knight Commander.

Gregoir follows.

As their steps echo through the halls, Alim releases his hold on Jowan. His breathing is even now, the lines of water around his eyes now semi dry. He wipes his face to dry to last of it.

Alim stands and holds out his hand for Jowan to take.

The Apprentice takes the Tranquil elf's hand and looks him in the eyes.

"They found out?" Alim asks.

Jowan nods.

Alim looks at the human he had called friend before his Rite. Of the people for the last three years, aside from Cullen, Jowan had been the only one to continue to interact with him. Solona still had, but not in the same way. The other Mages gave him a distance, whether out of respect for the dead, fear of his fate, or fear of him, he did not know. 'Jowan is going to be made Tranquil...because he learned Blood Magic from me.' He is still a friend, even after the Rite. 'The rules apply. It is something I would do.' He nods to himself.

"I should just go. I came here to say good-bye to Solona, and maybe let her know I'd be joining her wandering The Fade soon." Jowan moves past the Tranquil. "If not, I suppose we'll be sharing the Fomarri quarters soon. I need to ask Alim, does it hurt?" Even in the low light, the pained smile on Jowan's face is unmistakable.

"Jowan."

"Yes?"

"I'll help you."

"What?"

"I said, I'll help you." The elf steps forward to stare his friend in the eyes. "You learned it from me. You are my friend, have been and still are, despite my Rite. I keep my memories, I will not lose you the way I lost Solona."

Jowan peers at the elf. "Are you sure you're Tranquil?"

"Jowan."

"Yes?"

"Shut up. We're going to escape. We have at least a day to make preparations, and a night to pull it off. Is there anyone else you know who wants to leave that we can trust?"

"I...there is someone who wants to leave. You may not like it, but, she's skilled."

"Who?"

"An initiate. She...she's had a lot of experience in the outside world, she told me of her life before The Circle. She says as bad as it was outside, she thinks it's worse in here."

"Truly? A Chantry priest symapthizer…" The elf puts a hand on his chin.

"Well, what about you, mr. I'm training with the Templars. And whoever heard of an elf wielding a greatsword?"

"Garahel did."

"Oh, true." Jowan looks at the hallway, the sound of metal feet in the distance is returning. "I should get back to the Apprentice quarters."

"Yes. I'll meet you and The Initiate here tomorrow."

"Right. Alim?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you." Jowan runs of the podium to the second hall entrance and sneaks to the down stairs door way.

Alim walks back to his bench. Sits, head propped under his chin and closes his eyes once more.

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()(

The Circle is alive again the next day as Alim opens his eyes. It is a sudden influx of noise and voices, people either whispering in far corners or the initiate Sisters shuffling feet as they attend to the Chantry. He rises from the bench and moves with haste before the Revered Mother can ask him to help with the daily preparations.

A Tranquil's life is a simple one. As the defacto accountants, shop keepers, and public faces for the Circle of Magi, they have plenty to keep them busy and moving. Without emotions, their lives are productive because they can be nothing else. Rarely ever is it that a Templar sees fit to bother a Tranquil because they have nothing to fear from the "brain dead" Mages. Rarely ever is it either that a Mage sees fit to bother the Tranquil, fearing everything about the calm and placid demeanor of their sun marked bretheren. It is an existence of quiet uninterrupted contemplation, one that suits a Chantry attendant, rather than a full time Enchanter.

Alim knows that escaping The Tower would not be enough. While as a Tranquil he longer has the ability to cast spells, and like all Tranquil, free to leave The Tower when he chooses. Jowan does not have that luxury, his phylactery is still in The Tower. Alim's was sent to Denerim a little over three years ago, in the long term he would have to leave, track it down and destroy it to complete his new goal. But all that requires getting into the phylactery storage room, which is guarded by the many traps and echantments set up by both the Templars and Mages. He would need firepower, enough to blow open the door to the storage rooms.

He needs a Rod of Fire and the only place that stores them is the Circle stockroom. This would require some subterfuge.

Near the center of the tower and guarded by the Templars at both the north and south entrance, the Circle stockroom is one of the most visited places in the tower. Owain stands in the center of the room in front of the supplies, staring into the open air, hands at his side. His eyes lock onto Alim's form the moment the elven Tranquil enters the room.

"Alim, how are you?" The other Tranquil tilts his head at Alim.

"I'm fine, Owain. I require the use of a Rod of Fire." Lying is not a skill the Tranquil are known to employ, at least amongst non-Tranquil. Nothing prevents them from doing so however, should the Tranquil have the will to do so. Self preservation though dictates that honesty is usually the best policy, as such the Tranquil, aware of their already precarious life, do not often lie, unless lying is in their best interest.

"A Rod of Fire? Why? We have many enchantable items in the Circle, why do you need these specifically?"

"I wish to study their construction and the applied sciences of how lyrium makes the Rods issue fire, there could be other applications."

Owain nods. "Very well." He pulls out a sheet of paper from the stockroom and hands it to Alim. "Return with a signature, I will be here."

"Thank you, Owain." Alim takes the sheet.

Exiting the stockroom, Alim takes a moment to assess his current mission. All he needs is a signature, typically when a person needs something done they do it themselves, but if someone can't do something themselves they find someone else who can, that person who can usually requires a payment of some kind. He needs someone in need.

Moving from room to room in the Tower, Alim scans the faces of every member of the Circle. The Library, his first choice, reveals little. The Enchanters and their practicing students are too busy to be bothered by the likes of him. Fireballs and Spellshield practice it looks like. One of the Apprentices, Finn, Alim believes his name is, botches his cast and the ball explodes barely leaving the Apprentices' staff. Fire had never been a difficult magic for Alim, but then again, few of the spells had been, but that was a moot point and he knew dwelling on it would only delay him. No, his best bet would be in the Experimental Wing of The Circle.

The Experimental Wing or the Labratory, is off limits to Apprentices unless they are specifcally brought up for lessons in the extra class rooms and share the Laboratory with the scholars and Tranquil for hands on classwork. The Templar at the door glances at Alim through his helmet, notes the robes and the sun tattoo and says nothing when he opens it.

Fuming smoke, bubbling decanters, and the sound of grinding mortars and pestles, the Labratory is typically used to experiment with altering and testing experimental magic spells, potion crafting, and performing enchantment work. The other Mages in the room are concentrating duitifully on their tasks, pouring over texts with ferverent eyes. All except Senior Enchanter Leorah, who is fidgeting on her feet and wringing her fingers with her back turned to Alim facing the giant metal doors of the Circle Storeroom.

'Somone in need.' Alim nods and moves in on the only elven Enchanter in the Circle. "Is something wrong Leorah?"

"Ah!" Leorah shouts, jumping back a little.

The Labratory patrons all look up for a moment, then seeing nothing wrong return to work.

Leorah turns around and sighs at Alim's neutral face. "Alim...you scared me."

"I apologize. It seems to be an unintentional habit of mine. I blame my shoes." The Tranquil elf lifts his foot for emphasis.

Leorah nods. "Yes, well, I'm fine, Alim. Just a little tense right now is all." She resumes her fidgetting

"I saw that. You seem unsettled, is everything alright?" A concerned tone, easily produced when coaxing another person to reveal a secret, something everyone wants to share.

"I-uh-it's nothing, Alim. I-uh..." Leorah looks back at the Storeroom.

"You can tell me, Leorah, I might be able to help if you let me know."

"Help?" Leorah says, turning back to the Tranquil.

"Yes, if it is something you need done discreetly, I can take care of it. I assume it has something to do with the Storeroom?" Alim inclines his head.

Leorah sighs. "Oh what's the point. You promise not like you'll tell on me to get me out of the job or anything?" She tils her head and implores with her hands.

"So long as Irving or Gregoir do not ask, I won't. However, I will not endeavor to tell anyone."

Leorah nods. "That'll do." She looks around at the other Mages to make sure none are listening and leans forward to whisper to Alim. "I was recently promoted, you remember this?"

"Yes, about a month ago?"

"That's right. Well, I was put in charge of the Labratory here and everything's been going great except..." She checks one more time to see if anyone has heard. "There are spiders in the Storeroom. Big ones."

Alim raises an eye brow. "So? You're a Senoir Enchanter, can you not destory them yourself?"

Leorah shakes her head. "No, I specialize in Sprit Magic and Creation, particularly defensive magic and cleansing magic. It helps because usually a Mage will make a miscalculation with a poulitice or an errant spell in the crafting. I can't fight well on my own. I'm not Uldred."

Alim nods. "Your tenure as an Enchanter would be compromised if anyone found out."

"Exactly. I can't ask anyone for help."

Alim looks at the storage room, then at Leorah. "If you give me a moment to get my greatsword, I should be able to deal with the spiders."

"But if you come in with your greatsword, everyone will suspect something."

"You could call for a break before I go in, get everyone out if discretion is that important."

Leorah looks at the storage room one more time and nods. "Alright, I'll take care of that. Get your greatsword, I'll open the door for you." Leorah looks at all the other Apprentices. "Attention everyone...attention!"

Alim leaves the room with all due haste. Currently, he's on the second floor, and a while Tranquil running through the halls and down the stairs might look out of place to some, few are in the passages and halls he takes to get to his quarters in the Formarri dormitory near the Templar quarters at the base of the Tower. He had only used the bed provided him by The Circle a few times in the past, and now the one thing that always brought him back to the Formarri quarters is going to be removed for the last time. He knows he should feel a sense of exhillerance from such an action, but as always it is the reminder that he should have felt that which drives him.

Underneath his bed and locked in case of black and surrounded by red velvet, the most ornate thing he'll ever own, lies his greatsword.

The greatsword itself is of Templar design. Enscribed with runes and enchantments to disrupt mana and Fade energies, the hilt of the blade and the ridges on the handle that lock his hands around the weapon fit snugly between his fingers. He swings it once to get a feel for the blade and nods. It is time.

But like a golem, frozen mid command by its master, Alim stops at a sound coming from the Templar quarters. Crying. Someone is crying. And like a golem, the sound commands, by the rules that he created in the past before his Rite, to seek out the cause of the noise and its owner.

The Templar quarters are almost as bare as the Mage quarters, almost. Unlike standard Mage Quarters or the Apprentice's dormitories, each Templar is granted a small vanity mirror and dresser, more furniture to a single mage hunter than most Mages would see in their life time. Also, a Templar is usually stationed with one other member for their order, but the room where the noise is coming from, Alim knows to be held by one Templar alone: Cullen.

Sure enough, head in hands in front of the vanity given to him and holding a golden chain necklace between his fingers, Cullen is barely holding back the wretches and spasms. In his grief, he does not sense Alim approaching.

"Cullen?"

No shriek. Of all the members of The Circle to know Alim, Cullen is quite aware of the Tranquil elf's ability to go unnoticed by most, having helped train and fight the elf in the practice quarters on the fourth floor. Drawing in his breath, and putting the necklace on the vanity, the Templar stands, fully suited. "Yes...Alim? What is it?"

"Are you, alright?"

"I'm fine. I-just needed some time to myself. I-" Cullen looks at the necklace on the vanity and clenches his mouth as though growling and his eyes shut. "I-I can't get over it, Alim!"

"It's only been a day, Cullen. You're allowed to mourn. You and Solona were...close." Alim is all too aware that were he not as he is now, Cullen and Solona's dalliancy would have enraged him. As he is now, he can only see the logic behind their union. Solona craved affection, his affection for many years at The Circle and when he could no longer provide that same feeling, that she sought it else where was not a surprise to him. He did not object to her and Cullen, even if it was against Chantry law. Two Mages together was practically as scandalous. He could hardly find justifiable logic against it and had no reason to.

"That's not it! They-" Cullen steps to the other side of his private quarters. "They made me clean the chamber, burn her body!" He clenches both fists to his chin as the spasms rise once more. "I could still see her face, Alim! The misery on it, the pain, I could see it all on her..." Turning around and pacing back and forth, Cullen stops in front of the Tranquil. "She trusted...everyone, almost implicititly, and everyone trusted her, but she still...it wasn't fair!" He shouts to the ceiling. "It isn't fair," Cullen mutters under his breath. "We are told that Blood Magic is Evil, that summoning demons is a sin punishable by death and yet, here in The Circle we send the Mages to be food for a monster. She was tricked, Alim, she had to have been! She wouldn't...I know she wouldn't have submitted on purpose." He walks back to the vanity and picks up the necklace, holding the golden chain between his fingers. "What's it like for you, Alim? What was it like, watching Gregoir cut her down?"

Alim stares at the ground. Imitation isn't difficult, bending the truth isn't difficult, lying outright is something he'd never been good at and likely never would. "I felt...nothing Cullen. That is what you know. I could never have felt anything, but I still watched. And yes, I am aware that if I was not then as I am now, I would have killed Gregoir. But that kind of rumination does not achieve anything."

The Templar turns around to face his training partner.

"We must move on, Cullen. Whether it is from the emotions that bind us to them, or the memories that come with those emtions, we must move on."

The Templar nods, gripping onto the necklace with his left hand. "It was only for a year...just a year, but Alim it feels like it was so much longer than that. I thought I had finally found the righteous purpose I'd been looking for in Chantry law, in all of my faith. I thought my purpose in life would be to be her defender from the monsters of the Fade...and I couldn't. Gregoir did not take me to her Harrowing, but he made me clean up her body. I think he knew about us, and I think he knew I could not strike the killing blow."

"You think he did it to teach you a lesson?"

Cullen nods and looks at the necklace. "Yes, I think he did, as cruel and harsh a lesson as it was, any of the Mages could become abominations, any of them, but I just didn't think she would." He takes the necklace and puts it on, letting it slide under neath his plate armor. "It is a lesson I will carry with me until the day I die. But, I still don't think it was fair to her, or to any of you, Alim."

Alim blinks, at the Templar, for the first time in three years, he does not know how to respond.

Cullen moves to his bed, and picks up his greatsword lying on the sheets, strapping it to his back. "I think, if I become Knight Commander, I'm going to try to change things here at the Circle, so that the Mages have...a better chance at life. I think she would have liked that."

Alim nods. "I think she would have too. Will you be alright, Cullen?"

"I think I will. I have to return to guarding the halls, Gregoir will be cross with me if he catches me mourning. Of that I have little doubt." His teeth are bared for a moment and then as he turns to the Tranquil his anger fades. "Alim, thank you, for having been my friend these last few years. I've never seen eye to eye with the other Templars or their views on you and Solona. I-if I'd been here when they...when they did it to you, I would...if I knew you as I know you now, I would have done anything I could have to help you."

"You are still dwelling on "what if's" they do you no service, Cullen."

"Still, I know you, you are a friend, a good person. Solona saw that and I still see it in you."

Alim stares at the Templar, then at the floor.

"I must be on my way, I wish you well, Alim Surana." Cullen leaves.

Alim looks at the vanity mirror and stares at his own reflection. His dark brown hair hangs loosely around his head, and his yellow robes glisten in the light of The Tower, his eyes are still just as listless. "Evil is not an emotion. Neither is Good." Alim nods to himself and leaves Cullen's quarters.

The Labratory is empty when he returns, save for Leorah. "What took you so long?"

"Sorry, a Templar requested my aid, I could not say no."

Leorah curses under her breath. "Whatever, just...take care of it. I can't keep people out of here for much longer." She opens the door for Alim and shuts it behind the elf as he steps through.

The storeroom cave is massive. A twenty foot high ceiling of stalagmites, damp dripping walls, and an echo to acompany every drip drop of water in it. Another mystery of The Circle, how an cave came to exist that went under Lake Calenhad, but the entrance to was on the second floor, above water. "A dimensional gate perhaps? What magics were used to build such a gate...did they also make this cave?" Curiosity like Determination is a character trait, and Alim would always be curious, especially of questions that no one asks.

Then a sound, like a chittering, rapid high pitched clicks and the sound of grinding, like bone on bone. Bulbous backed and brown, massive thing that would have sent children and many grown men screaming. It's mandables speed up excitedly as it zeroes its eyes on Alim from a distance.

Alim is not impressed. 'Evil is not an emotion.' He runs forward toward the Giant Spider and brings his greatsword to bear.

The brown arachnids spits a web out to the Tranquil elf.

Alim dodges to the left and slams the blade downward. 'I must do Evil to aid someone. Evil to do Good.'

The Spider moves back and the sword clangs against the rock and reverberates in Alim's hands. It steps forward and bites at the elf.

Alim steps back with the Giant Spider tries to get his leg between its mandables. 'The Spiders are reproducing, I am slaughtering them for being Spiders.'

The Spider leaps attempting to overwhelm him.

Alim points the sword down to the Giant Spider as it leaps, and rams itself between it's eight eyes on the giant wedge of his blade.

Insects it is said are emotionless creatures too. They follow their instinctual edicts to the letter, but are incabale of higher order thought. A human will tell you that Spiders do not scream, that insects cannot feel. They are wrong, they have never heard one loud enough to know. A Spider will scream when it lies on the ground with a metal wedge logdged inside of it, legs flailing to unlatch itself. Humans make the mistake of Tranquil as well. Pain is not an emotion either. Alim knows this, so he avoids the bites and attacks. If he could end this creature's suffering faster he would, but he cannot, so he waits.

The legs slow and soon they are listless, save for nudges from Alim's shoe, which cause them to flail back and forth anew, but only for a moment.

Alim puts his shoes on the Giant Spiders head and removes the blade.

With a last echoing, gasp the creature dies.

Alim flings the Spider's blood from his greatsword. It leaves a line of green ichor on the cave floor. "This is nothing less than genocide." The Tranquil listens for the sounds of the cave, and can hear more clicking in the distance. He walks to the shadows on the cave walls and folds himself to them. "Then, I will make this as efficient as possible. As little additional conflict as required. I will stop imitating a Warrior." He steps down the cave, following the chitterings like a shadow. 'And imitate something else.'

The Spiders are lying in wait for him, facing the other direction.

Alim's shoes slide across the floor, no tremors are made, no sound of grinding water and stone underneath leather soles.

The Spiders continue to lie in wait, patiently feeling for their prey, facing the wrong direction.

Alim raises his greatsword. 'If I must do Evil, then brutality is the surest mercy.'

As he plunges the blade into his next victim, Alim can't help but think that Gregoir would approve.

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()(

When Alim returns from his excursion in the storeroom, Leorah's back is waiting for him. She turns around when the door closes, rushes the Tranquil almost bowling him over. "Is it done?! Are they all dead?"

Alim nods. "All of them, though you may want to run an inspection, see if you can find any eggs they may have laid and burn those. You don't want more of those emerging."

Leorah sighs. "No, no I don't. Thank you very much, Alim. I don't know what I would have done if Irving found out."

Normally, Alim would have pointed out exactly what she would have lost from this fiasco: her job, her pride and her sense of value within The Circle itself, which to emotional beings is not an easy thing to accept. It was hard enough for him to accept even without them. "I wouldn't worry about that. Study some more offensive magic and if this happens again, you should be fine."

Loerah nods and her shoulders sag. "Well, I'd better call in the others."

"Before you do that..."

"Hm?"

"I need you to sign this." Alim holds up the paper for the Rod of Fire.

"A stockroom request form? Rod of Fire? Why do you...no, you know what? I'm not gonna question it, I'm just gonna sign this and send you on your way." Leorah pulls out a quil, finds a convenient ink well and signs the form on the Labratory table next to her. "There, one Rod of Fire request form."

Alim takes the paper and looks at the signature to confirm it for himself. "Very good, thank you Leorah."

"Your welcome. I'll call the other students in here, gotta come up with a decent excuse to the First Enchanter why I pushed everyone out, but that'll be easier than explaining about Spiders."

Alim nods and moves out the door, but stops at the enchantement table he normally works at. Sitting on top of it are a few runes of varying tiers of quality and elements.

Leorah walks past the Tranquil but pays him no heed, too busy to get on with her day and resume to classes and Labratory experiments.

Alim opens the folds of his robes and stuffs the runes one by one inside, and makes a break for the Circle stockroom before any of the now incoming students and enchanters can notice what he's done.

Owain and the stockroom are unchanged, save for the occasional shift in posture of the Templars.

"I have the Rod of Fire request form, signed by Enchanter Leorah." Alim hands the form to Owain.

"I see." Owain looks over the form and nods to himself. He moves into the stockroom and pulls out a Rod of Fire, no bigger than Alim's forearm. "Use it wisely, and please know that if you require more, I will necessitate that you collect a signature for each Rod."

"I only intend to use one, Owain, that shouldn't be a problem."

"Truly? I wonder, what type of experiments you could perform that need only one testing resource?"

"I told you, I'm looking into the properties of these Rods to see if they can be given other uses."

Owain stays silent, then, "Alim, you know as well as I do, that the Tranquil are not as stupid or gullible as the rest of the Tower would like to believe we are," he says. "I chose my path voluntarily because the alternative was to be put through Solona's trial, to potentially become a demon. While you were not given a choice in the matter, considering your circumstances, you did get off lucky."

Alim says nothing.

Owain holds out the Rod to his fellow Tranquil. "My point is, while I know you do not feel the same about your circumstances, you could still treat me with at least modicum of respect more than you treat the others in the Tower. After all, no one else but us knows what we have gone through. What we still go through with our memories."

Alim stares at the other Tranquil, grips the Rod from Owain's outstretched hand. "It is because of memory, Owain, that I can no longer stand to stay here, among other things."

"I see. You are leaving, then?"

"Yes."

Owain nods and lets go of the Rod. "Very well, then, all I ask is that you be careful, Alim."

"You won't tell anyone?"

"Unless asked specifically."

Alim nods. "Thank you, Owain." Alim exits the Circle stockroom.

Before, though, he can go to the Chantry to find Jowan, a tap on his shoulder stops him.

"Excuse me, young man."

Alim turns around. Before him is a bronze skinned man with black hair and a beard so regal that coupled with his armor, heavily enchanted he can tell at a glance, that Alim almost confuses him for royalty. But that is a ludicrous thought, royalty do not come to The Circle. The man is someone of import however, and requires the same protocol. "Yes, sir, I am Alim, how may I help you?" He stows the Rod into his robes, hoping the man is not aware of its purpose.

The bronze skinned strokes his beard, his one arm propping the other one up. "Ah, well, I'm looking for the First Enchanter's study, do you know where I might find them?"

Alim nods. "Yes, sir, I can show you to them, if you'll follow me?" He moves past the Chantry, spies in a moment to see Jowan at the far side with a woman in robes. They're waiting for him, he must make this quick.

"I shall." The man follows Alim, matching his pace.

Alim says nothing for the duration of the walk, but pays close attention to the man in his perifpheral field of vision. A foreward piercing stare, one that seems to examine details without preconceived notions. The ease with which the man walks, smooth, efficient, and no sense of fear for the fact that Mages, abominations in the making, are milling about him by the dozens. No they are parting like a sea before the man, and Alim wonders if his own reputation is adding to the aversion the other Circle members are displaying. He doubts it, there is something about this man, like an aura that follows him whereever he goe, a magic of identity rather than of body.

Irving's office is a short distance away, as Alim nears it, he can hear the sound of raised voices.

"I just think it's impractical, Irving. There are plenty of Mages here who would happily volunteer for the opportunity."

"The opportunity for what? To throw themselves at the Blight? Are you speaking for yourself, Wynne? I truly doubt any of our Enchanters, much less the Apprentices would volunteer for such a thing."

Alim stops outside the door. Tranquil or not, intruding on conversations not his own would only delay him further and he'd already been delayed enough as it is. "Here are the First Enchanters quarters, sir."

"Duncan."

"Excuse me?"

"My name is Duncan, and I'm not the only one who the meeting is for." Duncan gestures for Alim to follow.

The Tranquil obeys.

The First Enchanter's study is full up, the two Senior most Enchanters, Uldred and Wynne facing Gregoir and Irving forming a square of discussion. Wynne and Uldred are arguing, while Irving and Gregoir look on at the spectacle.

"It is not a question of whether the Enchanters would, I'm sure there are some who would volunteer, but him? Truly? Nevermind his Tranquility, it's his past and his personality that I find objectionable."

"Personality? I do not think the Grey Wardens recruit on such criteria, Wynne. And I must ask, why you disagree so much with his helpful attitude towards others?" Irving raises an eyebrow.

"Helpful? Is that what you see him as? He's a snake Irving, an arrogant, deceitful, snake!" Wynne turns to Gregoir. "He pretended for years to be the Mage we dreamed of graduating to find out he was corrupting the other Apprentices."

Gregoir's face is placid and raises his left hand to calm Wynne's emotional fire. "And he has payed the price for his actions, Wynne. You know this, and for three years he has found redemption amongst the other Tranquil and serving the Revered Mother and The Chantry."

"Redemption? Is that you call branding our most talented student, after his Harrowing, against the rules I might add, and rendering him a husk of his former self?" Uldred raises an eyebrow at the Templar.

Duncan clears his throat.

Like four children simultaneously caught with their hands in the cookie jar, the three Enchanters and Knight Commander turn to face Duncan and his companion.

Alim stares.

"Ah, Alim, uh, well, this awkward," Uldred says to Wynne.

The Enchanteress whaps her collegue on the arm.

"We did not see you there, we apologise for how...heated our discussion was," Irving says.

The Tranquil is still silent, but blinks.

"Ah, yes, well, um...Gregoir, would you please take this for me?" The First Enchanter defers to his collegue.

Gregoir shakes his head and steps forward. "We were just discussing you and your companion."

Alim nods. "Yes, Duncan, he told me he needed to find the First Enchanters study," Alim says turning to the bronze man. "That may have been a lie or at least a subterfuge I did not suspect. Duncan, did you bring me here for another purpose?"

"I did, indeed. Your four teachers were discussing my purpose here. I am the Warden-Commander of Ferelden, I have come at the behest of King Cailan to recruit Mages for the war effort."

"War effort?" Alim raises an eye brow.

Duncan nods. "Indeed, a Blight has reared from the depths of the Deep Roads. The Darkspawn are on the march."

Uldred nods. "The King understand the necessity of Mages to aid the people." Uldred turns to Gregoir. "Though a few would object."

"I only object that so many Mages are requested and so few Templars sent with them. They need to be maintained."

"Leashed, you mean." The balding Enchanter narrows his eyes at the Knight Commander.

"Enough, both of you." Irving steps between the two men. "The point is, there is a necessity for Mages to aid Ferelden and we can spare no expense for the safety of our home. That is why we are sending Wynne and Uldred to Ostagar with Duncan here."  
Wynne shakes her head. "We would have left sooner, but a missive came that the Warden Commander was looking for recruits and would be dropping by the Tower. We stayed behind when the original missive for the war effort came to wait for Duncan."

"And for Solona's Harrowing," Uldred chimes.

"Typically," Duncan says to the elven Tranquil. "A Mage is selected, only one, to be a Grey Warden, and at the First Enchanter's word I had come to recruit Solona for that very purpose, as well as any others who may have wanted to volunteer."

Alim nods. "But that...didn't work out as you planned."

Duncan sighs. "No it did not. I have known Mages nearly my entire life as a Warden. The threat of falling to the demons is one they must constantly struggle with. To hear that such a promising recruit fell against them is most disheartening. Fortunately, your instructors have told me of another Mage who has also proven to be an adept pupil."

Alim looks inbetween his four instructors and then back at Duncan. "You refer to myself?"

"I do," Duncan says.

"But I am not a Mage, I am Tranquil."

Gregoir steps forward. "You are still a Mage, albeit one that has learned to rely on other forms of Magic. I know for fact that you have enchanted your robes for bodily protection and shoes to make you silent and to hasten your movements. The other Fomarri have mentioned your work in the Laboratory, they say it is most exemplary."

Alim grips a portion of his robes and grinds his shoes into the floor. He hadn't been aware people were watching him while he worked.

Gregoir continues, "You are proof, that Magic can be used in other forms rather than for destruction, proof that it has applications which can benefit all of Thedas. And because of that fact, I believe you will make a fine addition to the Wardens."

"You believe?" The Tranquil elf raises an eye brow.

"It was Gregoir who approached me with the proposal of releasing you to the Wardens," Duncan says. "However, Wynne and Irving both believe you would be better suited to remaining here, rather than fighting Darkspawn."

"It is not a mark against your abilities, or what we know you to be," Irving says, looking at Wynne, who frowns. "We merely do not feel that open battle with the Darkspawn is an appropriate use of your talents."

"You mean that you did not think I was suited for open battle. Wynne believes I am...a snake?" Alim looks at his old instructor.

"Your actions in the past were a mark against The Circle. When word spread that you were teaching Blood Magic to the other students we had to quell not only the Crown's wrath but also The Chantry's. They nearly called for the Rite of Annulment."

Alim crosses his arms at Wynne. "Instead you made me Tranquil, as a sacrifice, along with the other students." Five total Tranquil had been made that day.

"It seemed far more suitable at the time, than inciting the wrath of the Divine," Irving says. "And since you never got beyond the preliminary stages, or explanations, after the Mages were suitably punished for their actions, the Chantry was content to let them live as long as you and they served as an example to others."

"But despite your handicap, you have adapted, splendidly, I might add," Gregoir says, smiling, a sight Alim isn't sure he's ever seen, much less directed at him.

In other situations, Alim knew that he would have been ecstatic at the thought of becoming a Grey Warden. It would have meant freedom from the Tower, from the Chantry, freedom to practice Magic as he wished, Blood Magic even. But those days were long gone, and he has only recently discovered his goal and purpose in life yesterday. Becoming a Warden would interferre with that and likely involve him dying fighting the hordes of monsters wrought by humanity's hubris. "Do I have a choice in the matter?"

Duncan shakes his head. "Unfortunately, no. Under other circumstances I would accept volunteers and invoke the Rite of Conscription only in cases where the state or local officials would deny me access to recruit. In your case, and in the case of our current circumstances, The Blight, I am unable to leave the Circle without a recruit. If you refuse, I will have to inovke it."

"And I will leave with you anyway." Alim turns to Gregoir. "So it seems that even after losing my Magic, I am still to be leashed."

"That is not it all, Alim." Gregoir shakes his hands.

The Tranquil shakes his head in return. "Perhaps not to you, and perhaps not to the Mages of this Circle, but whether I am leashed to the Wardens or to the Tower, a leash is a leash. What I wish to do with my existence has never mattered." Alim stares pointedly at the Knight Commander, then turns to Duncan. "If I am to be drafted, then may I make a request?"

"If it is within my power, I shall grant it," The Warden Commander says.

"I know another Mage, an actual Mage, who would serve the Warden's well, if I am to become one, then I request that you also recruit him for the army."

"Are you referring to Jowan?" Wynne tils her head at the Tranquil.

"I am. Jowan is a skilled Mage, and a loyal friend, even after my Rite, he has been there for me."

"The Warden's only are allowed one Mage for their order. You would be it, Alim, despite your view to the contrary. And there are compelling reasons for keeping him in The Circle."

"Compelling reasons?" Alim raises and eyebrow. "You mean that you caught him practicing Blood Magic?"

The silence in the room is so palpable that the soft scratches and clanks of Gregoir's armor, as he shifts and stares at the elf, cuts right through it. "How do you know that?"

"I taught him." The Tranquil states. "You are going to make him Tranquil, no? You are going to render him the same as me and yet you will deny allowing him to join the Wardens. As always Gregoir, when you liberated me from my family, and then indoctrinated me into your religion, your logic leaves much to be desired. I have already been Tranquilized, doing the same to Jowan is redundant."

"It is hardly a redundancy!" Gregoir steps forward once more and is now the closest to the elf, staring down at him. "You have paid for your crimes! The Tranquility was the only option to spare you and the Circle the full punishment of the Divine. You may have taught, perhaps even coerced him as a friend, but Jowan's actions are his own and he must pay for them. Blood Magic is forbidden, he knew this, all Mages know this and to do so is to defy The Maker and to spit on all the efforts of humanity to win back his approval. Jowan will undergo the Rite, Alim, and you will leave for the Wardens, that is final!" The Knight Commander cuts his hand through the air, ending the discussion.

Alim stares at him a moment, then turns around, he looks to Duncan and says, "Allow me please to gather my personal effects. When do we leave?"

"Tomorrow at dawn," The Warden Commander answers. "We will leave and we will not stop. Say goodbye to those you know, take what little you have, we have a very long journey ahead of us to Ostagar."

Alim nods and leaves Irving study.

"Much defiance in that one." Alim hears Wynne say as he leaves the room.

())()()()()()()()()()()()()()()(

He knows he shouldn't have mentioned knowing Jowan's Blood Magic, or admiting that he had taught the Mage, it could comprimise his plans to help his friend escape, but at this point he is beyond caring. 'They saw to that,' Alim thinks to himself. He is leaving. He had always intended on doing so, even before his Rite, but not like this. Abandoning his rules, his identity from before, everything that had been him. The Circle itself has been all that tied him to who he was. Leaving Jowan behind, no matter how he tries to find a way to circumvent the edicts he put in place for himself, would mean severing the last tie he has to his previous self.

'I will not allow that to happen. I will retain my memory.' Walking to the Chantry, he enters to find Jowan alone in the chapel, sitting in the pews. "Jowan?"

The Mage turns around to look at Alim, then stands to face his friend. "I was beginning to think you weren't going to show."

"There have been far too many delays." Alim holds up the Rod of Fire. "But I have what we need." He looks around to see if anyone is listening to them. The Chantry is sparsely populated, but the initiates are milling about, some pass a smile his way, and he smiles back to keep them unaware of his intentions. He looks back to Jowan. "Where is our initiate ally?"

Jowan nods his head towards a Sister lighting the candles in the far corner, listening to the chants of a Mage, Kelli, if Alim remembers correctly.

"Very well, I will go to the basement storage room and make sure the cost is clear. When you can, let her know." Alim leaves the Chantry and heads down the stairs to the Circle's first floor. He passes Apprentices and Templars on the way. Cullen, walking the halls per his guard duty, nods to him and walks past. Alim continues ahead, no time to waste now, even chatting with perhaps the one other friend he would leave behind.

The storage room is unguarded, Alim would have smiled at his good fortune, but instead he can only question why the Templars would leave the most important room in the Tower, with all its "dangerous" magics and the phylacteries unguarded. Making sure no one is watching him, he slides silently across the floor, down the steps, next to the door and grips the handle. 'It is unlocked? Are the Templars truly this lax in their duties?' Alim wonders. The handle, while stiff makes no effort against him opening it. He waits by the door for Jowan and his initiate ally.

"Alim." A hushed whisper.

"Here." A return just a hushed.

Jowan and The Initiate step down to meet him by the door, both are looking around wearily. "Where are the Templars? Don't they guard the door?"

"They don't need to. The other protections inside the basement see to that. They think it's better to watch the Mages." The Initiate nods her head to the elven Tranquil.

Alim nods and opens the door.

Much as it was stepping into the Tower's Laboratory storeroom, stepping into the basement storeroom greets Alim with the smell of damp, cold air, and the smell of stone mildew on the walls.

"Gah, why is it so cold in here?" Jowan asks.

"We are currently underneath Lake Calenhad. The water is encasing all these walls, and as winter approaches the Lake becomes colder and colder, cooling down this entire area." The Initiate responds, putting a hand on Jowan's shoulder.

Jowan smiles and nods his head.

Alim doesn't notice, too busy staring at the door in front of him. "This door is too thick for the Rod of Fire."

The Initiate walks up to Alim and points at the door. "It was designed by both the Templars and the Mages, meant to hold out anyone who would use its secrets for misdeeds. It requires both the word of a faithful to prime it and a Mage who has been through the Harrowing. That's where you come in." She turns to him.

Alim turns to her, then to Jowan. "She doesn't know I'm Tranquil?"

The Initiate's eyes light up. "Tranquil? Oh my, Jowan, we need the aid of a Mage who has passed his Harrowing to open the door!"

"What? But there must be some other way, perhaps we can…"

"We can't do anything Jowan, the door won't open unless we get the aid of a Mage who has been through the Harrowing, and it's too late to ask anyone else for help. Oh Maker, why did I agree to this?" She folds her hands over her head, as though holding back tears.

"Lily, please, don't give up on me now we're-"

Alim isn't listening to either of them. He walks up to the door and places a third tier fire rune on it, the rune sticks with an adhesive he applies to it. He traces the Tevinter symbol for 'fire' on the rune and walks away from the door. "You both may wish to take a step back." He guides his two conspirators from the door back toward the basement entrance around the corner.

"Why would we want to-" Jowan and The Initiate never finish their sentence because the explosion which blows open the door knocks both him and The Initiate down.

Alim remains standing, staring down at them, as they both climb to their feet.

"What was that?" Jowan asks, helping The Initiate to her feet.

The Tranquil moves forward and peeks around the corner. The door is in ruins, bits and pieces of it lying in the hallway on both sides. "I released a fire ruin I took from the Laboratory this morning." Alim steps past the door and into the hallway, turning to check on his compatriots.

"Released it?" Jowan asks, walking in step with his friend. The Initiate falls in step behind them, looking fearfully at the door and the new arch way its absence has created.

The Tranquil nods. "Yes, there is Magic stored in runes. While they are made by the Tranquil, unable to do Magic of our own, we can shape existing Magic to suit our needs. Lyrium becomes what we want it to be and we store it in these stones." Alim pulls more runes out of his robe pockets. "When we release the rune the stored up Magical energy erupts from the stone, and take effect the same way any spell would. Depending on the way the stone is released the effects differ. In this case I did a rather…violent release of that fire rune."

Jowan nods. "That's impressive, so you can still do Magic as a Tranquil then."

Alim presses forward. "Not quite, it takes time, a lot of time to make these runes, especially the stronger ones, since their designs are more intricate. It also means that once the rune is used it can't be used again. But you are correct, one could likely fashion a rune for every spell that exists." Alim stops at the next door. It's only made of wood. He pulls out the Rod of Fire and hands it to Jowan.

Jowan raises an eyebrow at Alim and the Rod.

"I can't use one of these, they still require Magic to activate them."

Jowan laughs. "I know, I just thought with those runes you'd be blowing open every door in our way."

Alim shakes his head. "That was the strongest fire rune I had. I have another one, not a fire rune, stronger, but I doubt it would help us."

Jowan points the Rod at the door, when nothing happens, he hits the Rod and tries again. "Why not?"

"It would likely bring down the entire Tower. Is something wrong?"

"I don't get it, the Rod isn't working…" Jowan puts it away and tries to cast a spell. "My Magic isn't working!"

"Another impasse. Likely a field created by the Fomarri to nullify Magic. The walls themselves are probably enchanted." The Tranquil fiddles with the runes in his pockets. He has a few more fire and lightning runes, but only one more of them is a three. There's also the chance that releasing the runes here they might still be mitigated by the field.

The Initiate steps behind the two of them, examining the door. "That would make sense, since this is where the ancient antiquities would be stored. I had thought it odd why Irving and Gregoir used keys for this door. We need another entrance." The Initiate points to a door down the hallway. "There, that door."

Alim turns. There is indeed another door down the hall, three suits of armor standing at attention near it. "We will have to try it. Jowan, if you would?"

The Mage walks forward, his two allies following behind him. He pulls out the Rod of Fire and ignites the door, which burns to the ground, revealing the next room. He turns and gestures his friends to follow through.

The sound of grinding metal stops them, though.

Alim, out of instinct, and suspicion of the suits when he first saw them, unsheathes his greatsword, bringing it about face to the closest of the suits, holding a mace and a shield in its arms. The other two, one with a greathammer and the other with a longsword and a dagger, run past him towards his allies as the mace wielder spins about trying to hit Alim with the shield then get him with the mace. The Tranquil blocks the shield and uses the momentum, coupled with his greatsword acting as a fulcrum to spin himself about and avoid the mace. At the end of his spin the elf brings the greatsword around and slices the back of the suit, opening up the metal.

As though its body is flesh and not metal, the suit reels from the blade, but turns around, its chest rotating a hundred and eighty degrees followed by the legs, and rushes the elf.

In front of him, Jowan and The Initiate are barely fending off the other two. The one wielding the greathammer can't swing fast enough to hit The Initiate, so it switches to Jowan and the dual-wielding one takes her on in a battle of sword and dagger versus just a dagger. Jowan meanwhile is yelling as he pours fire out of both the Rod and his staff, as though metal would find flames to be a deterrent. The greathammer suit brings its weapon above its head and swings it down heavy. Jowan barely dodges to the right to avoid the cudgel and casts _Weakness_. But even moving at the pace of a cripple, the suit manages to lift its hammer from the ground and hits Jowan in the side, who falls to the ground unconscious like a sack of potatoes.

The Tranquil dodges a mace swing from his enemy, the suit still not giving inches at it tries, to separate him from his allies. Alim's mind though is untouched by fear, as the suit continues to press its attacks, Alim allows it to over extend itself, then brings his greatsword down on the suits arm. With a clank, the offending appendage falls and the suit takes a moment to stare at the stump where the elbow of the armor was cut off. Alim does not give it a chance gather itself, so to speak, and cuts off its head. The suit collapses just as a corpse. Alim runs to aid his friends in dire need of his help.

The dual-wielding suit is going in for the kill. The Initiate, wherever she learned her skills, is still fending it off, but just barely. It makes three stab attempts at her, the sword glances by her shoulder cutting it, the dagger she blocks, but the final sword attack runs right through her stomach and she falls as the blade slides wetly out of her, her face a mix of shock and awe. The dual-wielder turns around only to find a greatsword run through its chest, not too dissimilar to what it had just done moments before.

Alim does not smirk or offer a witty retort to the suits apparent disbelief at the wedge inside of it and instead hurls it at the greathammer suit, who without any regard for its ally, swings its hammer at and shatters it in an explosion of plate gauntlets and boots.

The greathammer bearer gets in a ready stance, it's hammer behind it and hunching like a monster.

Alim wastes no time, answers the challenge and charges the suit of armor.

It spins about bringing its greathammer to bear one more time, up over head and swings down.

Alim, rather than dodgeing, uses the flat side of the greatsword as a shield, butts the greathammer back, knocking the suit of balance. It falls backwards with a clang. As it picks up the hammer and looks up, it sees Alim swinging his greatsword viciously down and cuts off the suits head. The armor collapses, another corpse. One of a few.

Alim runs to Jowan, pulling out a poulitice. He props his friends head up and pours into his mouth.

For a moment nothing happens, then the Mages eyes flutter open and he looks up at the elven Tranquil. "Did we win?"

"Yes, but, The Initiate has fallen."

Alim does not finish before Jowan is up and across the hall holding The Initiate in his arms. "Oh Maker, Lily!" Cradling her head in his arms, Jowan is sobbing and staring at the open wound in the woman's stomach. "She's breathing! Give me a poulitice!"

Alim, hovering over his friend, as he frets with the woman underneath him, hands another poultice to Jowan, his hands shaking as he applies the red gelatinous substance to the wound and pours some down her throat.

"Please, wake up, Lily!" The Mage kisses the woman's face, tears falling out of his eyes onto her robes. "Give me another one!"

Alim knows better than to tell his friend that the potion is already taking affect, and hands him another.

"Please, Lily, don't leave me!" Jowan pours the potion down on the wound and into the mouth of The Initiate, Lily. Her eyes open after a few more moments.

"Jowan?"

"Oh, thank you Maker! Are you alright?"

Lily cranes her head and stares at the suits of armor lying in pieces around her. "We won?"

"Yes, oh, yes, we won." Jowan turns his head up to Alim. "Thank you."

Alim nods. "Can you stand, Initiate?"

"Lily, her name is Lily," Jowan growls through his remaining tears and sobs.

"I think so." The Initiate, Lily, gets up, holding her stomach, the wound still in the process of closing. She holds her side where the tender wound is open.

"This was a mistake, Maker, why was I so stupid?! We shouldn't have come here."

"The Templars are going to make you Tranquil, Jowan. Worse they could execute you," Alim lectures to his friend.

"I don't care!" Jowan turns on his friend and stalks towards him. "I don't care what happens to me, if Lily gets hurt or killed because of my selfishness I won't ever forgive myself. I'll take whatever punishment they give me, but I won't endanger her!"

"Jowan." Lily's hand falls on The Mage's shoulder.

He turns around, his face red with anger and his eyes just as so with drying trails of water on his face.

"It's alright. I'm fine. It's just a little flesh wound at best now."

"But, you almost got killed!" Jowan starts gesturing about hysterically. "Nothing is worth that to me, Lily. There's no point to my life if you're not in it!"

Lily puts her hand on the side of the Mage's face. "And there is no point to my life without you in it, Jowan." She strokes his cheek, then kisses him briefly. "It's alright. We'll get through this, and we'll find our happiness together." She then turns to Alim. "Thank you, for saving me and Jowan. If you're ready, lets continue."

Alim nods. "You're welcome. Jowan is my friend, anyone he values is also worth saving and fighting for."

Lily smiles and nods at The Tranquil. She turns to Jowan. "Shall we make our escape, my love?" She inclines her head at the new archway in front of them.

Jowan looks at her, then at Alim, who nods. He turns back to his love, the one love that he's always wanted, and also nods. "Yes, lets get out of here."

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

The wall to the phylactery bursts open in a shower of stone, dust, and fire. The Sentinels that guard the room stand up. For the first time in ages, it seems that they will be given purpose. Their leader, a giant set of Qunari plate armor holds his greataxe at the ready. Today there would be blood.

From the dust a shadowy form steps into the light and the four Sentinels get into their ready stances awaiting their foe. When the dust settles, there is an elf standing there with a placid look on his face and four runes of his hands.

"Nipping this in the bud," The Sentinels hear the elf say, as he tosses the four stones at their feet.

The Sentinel's leader picks one up, and lifts the stone to its face. The spirit inside the armor recognizes the Tevinter symbol for 'lightning' as the stone glows a bright purple. The Sentinel turns to the elf, who is now casually walking back the way it came.

Alim does not flinch at the explosion of fire and lightning that comes from the room, as he arrives back to tell Jowan and Lily, "I think the way is clear now."

The two lovers stare at the elf incredulously until Jowan pipes up. "Why didn't you do that the first time? Or…any of the other times we were being attacked by those things?"

The Tranquil stares back. "We were too closely packed last time for me to use any of them without killing both of you. As for the other times…we did a lot better all those other times."

Jowan sighs. "Whatever, I suppose it worked out for the best. Are you sure it's clear?"

Alim looks into the room. The Qunari suit of armor is crawling across the floor, its legs removed from its body. It raises a gauntleted fist at Alim, shakes vigorously, then collapses. "Yes, it's clear."

The three enter the room and ascend the steps to the phylacteries. Jowan steps forward skimming through the names listed. "Here!" He pulls up a vial holding it aloft. "All I have to do is let it go." He lets it go and it shatters on the stone floor. "And I am free."

Alim looks at the phylacteries. "They take a sample of our blood, then store it in a serum to keep track of us. The Chantry forbids every use of Blood Magic, but has already devised means to use it for themselves. I know that if I were not as I am now, I would throw a rageful fit over this. But as it stands I can only wonder at the irony of it."

"The Chantry does what it must, Tranquil Alim," Lily says from behind Jowan. "But not all it's actions are just." She stares at the vials, hundreds of them, one for every Mage. "Keeping track of Mages is a necessity, I think. But the Rite, is evil, it is beyond evil."

Alim looks at the Sister. "How do you accept this, but not the Rite?"

Lily looks down at the ground, then at Jowan, then back to Alim. "I know it sounds hypocritical and it is, I agree it is a form of Blood Magic, but it is not the same as manipulating someone's mind against their will, causing hundreds to bleed from open wounds slowly, or stealing the life force of others to sustain your own." She shakes her head. "And it's not the same as removing someone's sense of emotion from them. To say that you no longer feel love, any kind of love," She says, turning to Jowan. "That is more horrible than all evils in the world. You can't even know what you have lost." She turns back to the Tranquil. "That kind of emptiness, I can't imagine it."

Alim stares and then, "It's a bit like losing an arm, and still feeling it there moving at the stump. You know it's not there, but the memory of what it was and what it felt like is all too apparent and you are reminded of it at every point when you see something you associate with it. You feel your arm twitch, when you know it's just a stump." He turns and descends down the steps.

Lily turns to Jowan. "Is he mad at me?"

Jowan shakes his head. "No, he can't be mad anymore, they took that from him. But you did say something rather insensitive."

"What did I say?"

"You talked about love."

"But I do love you, Jowan. Why would that make him mad?"

"It's not that, he's not jealous, but I think you reminded him about Solona."

"The mage that died yesterday? The one that became an abomination?"

Jowan nods. "Yes, she was a friend of ours, more his than mine. After she began seeing that Templar Cullen she and I drifted a little farther apart as well. But before his Rite, they were together."

"Who? Her and him?"

"Yes."

"Oh, I didn't realize."

"It's alright, I think that's why he's leaving."

"Jowan, can I ask you a question?"

"Anything, my love."

"Everyone says that he was Tranquilized for being teaching Blood Magic to the other students, is that true?"

Jowan stays silent, then nods.

"Jowan…are you-"

"Did you two forget that we have a time limit? Or are you just going to keep whispering

about me up there until the Templars come?" Imitating an irritated tone got the point across.

Jowan and Lily descend the stairs looking sheepish at the Tranquil elf.

Alim just shakes his head. "Lets go."

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()(

Exiting the basement, and opening the door to the Circle first floor, Alim is the first of the three to see the Templars, including Gregoir and Cullen, and Mages, Wynne, Irving and Leorah, waiting for his group. Jowan and Lily back a step towards the basement. Lily draws her daggers and Jowan pulls out his staff. Alim reaches into his pocket and traces the last rune he has.

"So," Gregoir says, walking forward to the three. "You were right, Irving, one of the Chantry's own has betrayed us to help the Maleficar." The Knight Commander turns to Alim. "But of all of the conspirators, you were the last person I expected to be here."

Alim tilts his head at the Knight Commander. "You did not expect this? You did not expect me to aid my friend?"

"Aiding a friend is one thing, Alim, a commendable thing," Irving says to the Tranquil, pulling out his own staff. "But aiding a Maleficar goes against everything the Circle stands for, you know this."

Wynne steps forward and points at the elven Tranquil. "As I told you, Irving, he cannot be trusted, even after his Rite."

"I trust him more than I ever will any of you," Jowan says taking his place by Alim's left. "Alim has never abandoned me, Wynne! You though would throw any Mage to the Templars just to save your own hide!"

"I hardly consider looking out for the best interests of The Circle as saving my own hide, Jowan. We cannot flout the Chantry, we must earn our place in society."

"I would have been fine in the past with Mages earning their place lady Wynne," Lily says taking her place on Jowan's left. "But what I have seen in there proves that The Chantry does not follow its own edicts. The Rite is evil, it destroys love! To use it on anyone is a sin against The Maker!" The Initiate pulls out her dagger and the second one she found on the corpse of the first suit of armor. "If you Tranquilize Jowan, you will have to do the same to me."

"That can be arranged," Gregoir says, pointing forward at the group. "Cullen, arrest Alim, take him to the dungeons to await suitable punishment. Kill the Maleficar, Tranquility is too good for him, and arrest the girl to be taken to Aeonar."

Cullen steps forward, a small group of Templars behind him. He stares at the group in front of him, at the elf, his friend, then hangs his head and looks up. "I'm sorry, Alim. What I do now, I do so with a heavy heart." The Templars advance as Cullen does.

Alim nods at his friend. "I wish, Cullen, that I could say the same, I want you to know that." He pulls out the last rune from his pocket which glows a bright green glow.

Leorah looks up at the rune. "Stop! Don't go near him!"

"What is that?" Gregoir asks.

"He's holding my prototype earth rune and…he's almost released it."

"And?" Gregoir turns around to face the Tranquil, who is staring right at him.

"And, if I release this fully, the entire Tower, you, The Templars, The Mages, all of you are buried underneath the waters of Lake Calenhad."

The silence which ensues is one of almost surreal nature. The Templars and Mages are being threatened by a Tranquil.

"Why…why are you doing this, Alim?" Gregoir asks.

"It is something I would do." Alim responds.

"What does that mean?!" The Knight Commander demands.

The Tranquil does not speak at first then, breathing in, looks at the assembled congregation. This is his time to preach. "Before I came to the Circle, I was a Dalish, a boy no more than eight before your Templars came and slaughtered my family. I remember my father, his stern, but kind face and bald head. I remember my mother, and how she used to smile and that she had blonde hair, that she was originally from the Alienages and how my father rescued her from bandits. I remember the clan we traveled with, the hunters and what the halla looked like and what it was to ride on one of them through the trees, as though I was flying."

Still holding onto the rune, Alim unsheathes his greatsword. "I remember the day you came, and how your Templars killed everyone, our Halla mistress, our hunters, anyone who resisted. I remember you found me, hiding in my father's aravel and how I used Blood Magic there that day, when you came in and tried to capture me. How I resisted with every fibre of my being, casting every spell I could think of that my father had taught me. None of it worked, I still just a child. You knocked me out and I awoke in The Circle."

Alim's grip around his greatsword tightens as he points it up at Gregoir. "I remember you told me that this place would be my home. I remember being told by you that 'I had nothing to fear from you.' I remember the woman who was Knight Commander before you, and I remember how you protected me from her."

Alim closes his eyes. He can feel the thrum of the rune in his fingers. It is the thrum of the lyrium, the essense of all Magic, reacting to his will. "I remember being a Mage. I remember bending the forces of the world to my desire and learning how to control Magics outside the Blood school. I also remember reading The Chant for the first time. I remember reciting the words to the Revered Mother, to your Knight Commander, Gregoir. I remember crying that day because I knew at that point there was no going back. I would never return to see the other clans, I would never see my family again."

Alim opens his eyes. "But most of all, I remember Love, Gregoir. I remember what it felt like to know that there was someone else who valued me as much as I valued them. Someone who'd lost their entire family to the Chantry and hated it here as much as I did. And that made living here bearable, enjoyable even, because I finally wasn't alone."

The rune is still glowing, Alim stares at the Tevinter symbol for earth. A tier seven earth rune. Nevermind The Tower, the entire region would likely feel the effects of this tiny little rock's release. "Then, came the Tranquility. My love was taken from me. Not the one I loved, but the love I felt. And for three years, I lived, going through the motions to try to understand my new life and what I'd done, what I'd done wrong. But you know what Gregoir?" The Tranquil turns to look the Knight Commander right in the eye. "There is nothing to be gained by punishing someone who cannot feel guilt for their actions. I not value anything anymore, much less myself." He holds up the rune for all of them to see. "I have been a Child, a Son, a Dalish, a Mage, a Sinner, a Lover, a Friend, I have been all these things, but now, I don't even know what I am anymore. My actions, every one of them is guided by the memories of who I used to be." The Tranquil looks down at the ground and for the first time, in a long time, Alim knows exhaustion. "Am I even alive now, Gregoir?" He asks looking up with listless eyes, the same eyes Gregoir remembers when he first came to the Circle.

"Alim…" Gregoir says, inching closer to the Tranquil. "Please, don't do this, son."

At that word, that last word, Alim throws the earth rune to the ground. In an instant there is a massive rumbling throughout the entire Tower, the building shaking, shattering itself apart and then…nothing. The rune's glow stops and the energy in it abates.

Alim raises an eye brow. "Prototype, indeed. Jowan?"

"Right!" The Blood Mage pulls out a dagger and stabs the blade into his hand, pulling forth the eldritch energies of life force inside himself and the people in the room. The Templars, Mages, everyone, but the three companions, begin to spasm horribly violently, blood coming up through their orifices in a macbre dance of flailing limbs and silent screams. Jowan releases the spell and they all collapse on the ground.

"They'll be waking up soon."

Jowan nods. "We need to go, now!" Jowan gets ready to run and tries to grab Lily's hand only to have her pull away. "Lily come on, we need to go!"

"I'm not coming with you, Jowan." Lily is facing the ground her hands clenched at her sides.

"What?"

"You lied to me! You said you weren't a Blood Mage!"

"Lily, there's no time for this! They will kill me and take you to Aeonar, we have to run!"

"But…"

"Lily, I'm sorry, but they'll be up and at it soon, The Templars especially. We have to leave now!" Jowan turns to the woman in robes. "I love you, I swear I do, if I have to give up Magic entirely, I will if you want me to, but please don't stay here, not with them."

Lily turns her head to face Jowan, she looks at the dagger in his hands and the wound in his left palm. She then turns to Alim. "You made him this way, didn't you?"

Alim nods. "Yes, I taught him."

Lily glares at the elf. "It's because of you that he has to live his life on the run now."

Alim nods. "Say what you want, Initiate, you won't get another chance."

Lily shakes her head. "No, I've said enough, we've said enough. I hope that The Maker can forgive you, Alim Surana because I don't think I ever will." She grabs Jowan's hand, the unwounded one and runs with her Mage out of the room and out of The Tower.

Alim stands and waits. He knows Jowan did not use a lethal casting, but he makes no attempt to heal their wounds, save for Cullen, who applies a poulitice. The barest sound of footsteps meets his ears, as Duncan walks into the room.

The Warden Commander looks down at all the unconscious bodies, nodding his head. "I'm impressed."

"I thought you might be." He finishes applying the poulitice and stands. "So," Alim says.

The Warden Commander looks up at him.

"Do we still leave at dawn?"

Duncan says nothing, instead he just smiles.

Author's Note: WOW. This shit took for fucking ever. Seriously, I started this shit a while back sometime around December twentieth, maybe a little earlier, but it really didn't get rolling until I found out I wouldn't be doing my Thesis, on Dragon Age by the way, until Summer, which blows, but what can you do, ya know?

That said, this chapter took forever for various reason, mainly because I don't think people talk about the Tranquil except for how horrible it must be to be one. While there's a whole lot of talk about it though, and quite a few one shots about being Tranquil, I don't think anyone's ever tried to make a Tranquil Warden. But the idea appealed to me, especially in terms of being able to share with people my own interpretations of what Owain tells us what being Tranquil is like, especially when he mentions how he knows exactly what his emotions felt like. That was the kick starter, as soon as he said that I couldn't get this idea out of my head.

Hopefully, I can finish this project, I've never finished a single piece of fanfiction, except for my one for City of Heroes back when I still played the game, but that thing has so many errors, it's not even funny. I might one day go back and re edit it, just for shits and giggles, but that'll be after I'm done with this.

Well till then, I'll be lurking, reading, reviewing, and writing like I always do.

Edit: It's always shit right at the end that is the most glaringly in need of redoing. The changes I made

-Konous.


	2. Follow The Rules

Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age: Origins, it is owned by Bioware, and published by EA, but most all written by David Gaider and his team, this is just an homage to the world he gave us.

Tranquility Chapter 2

Follow The Rules

Dawn, standing outside The Spoiled Princess, waiting for Duncan to collect their horses from the stable. Alim keeps his eyes on the sky, half sure it will disappear, but knowing that it is just the jarring sense of being in an unfamiliar environment.

One where his memories do not appear in front of his eyes and act themselves out like plays. He is on new ground, territory that he is paving out as goes, leaving images of himself in the flow of time. Wynne and Uldred were both staying silent. Standing in between the two of them, Alim is very aware that Gregoir had ordered the two Mages to act as his leash while he is being taken to Ostagar.

(()()()()()()()(

"No, I forbid it! This Tranquil has endangered the lives of everyone here at the Tower, our Mages and our Templars. I will not release him Duncan." Gregoir, after having been woken and rejuvinated by the Mages, had all but ordered that Alim be taken to the dungeons in the lowest sections of the Tower. The Templars seemed ready to jump in at a moments notice for his command to do just that.

Duncan was all that stood between them and the elf. The Warden Commander crossed his arms. "Knight-Commander my duty is clear. I require a Warden, this Tranquil has proven his resourcefullness, his dedication to his friends, above all else, that he desires to stop the Blight. My decision is final."

Gregoir paces back and forth clenching his gauntleded hands. "Fine! But he is your charge now, Warden. When he betrays you and your order, you'll regret having ever met him." The Knight Commander turned his eyes on the elf and glares, then turns about. "I will also be taking Wynne and Uldred with me, as well, correct?"

Gregoir did not face Duncan as he spoke, but stared into the doorway. "I will send for them." He gestures to one of the remaining Templars. "Find the Senior Enchanters Wynne and Uldred, bring them to my office, I would speak with them before they leave." Then, Gregoir turned about and looked Duncan with one eye. "Walk carefully, Warden Commander." And disappeared into the Tower Halls.

()()()()()()()()()(

Were it that awkward tension could affect a Tranquil, the telepathic glares that Uldred and Wynne are shooting each other over his head, while dually staring straight ahead at the inn would have made any normal man fidget and perspire. No, Alim stands between them like a statue, even as Duncan steps out of the inn with the proprieter with four horses behind him. There is no surprise in his eyes. "Well," Duncan says, the smile on his face over powering the grimness of his three companions. "Shall we be off?" The three nod, and set on their horses, off to Ostagar.

9)()()()()()()(())(

Evening, the ride had not been unpleasant, despite the long distance, there seemed little that the four companions wanted to talk about. The constant bucking of his horse as it walks is starting to cause aches in his side. As they get off their horses Duncan explains the nature of The Blight. "The last Blight was four hundred years ago, in the Tower Age. Most people believe that all the darkspawn have been killed." The Warden Commander ties his horse and the other three to a tree and gives them grain to eat. "The reality, though, is that they've been biding their time, building their horde up again for the next Blight. Even while they are marching here on the surface, a great number of them are always under ground. I'd argue that what we see top side, even during times such as these, is but a fraction of their true numbers."

"Why do the darkspawn not march en masse if they already have such numbers?" Alim follows the Warden Commander, watching the man's every step and the smooth gait which signifies the man's skill as fighter.

Duncan frowns. "That is something I have wondered for sometime, especially after I had the opportunity to travel the Deep Roads, before the Blight erupted." Duncan sits down by the fire constructed by Uldred, as Wynne stirs a stew made of vegetables and two rabbits that the group encountered on the road. "There is reason for me to believe that the Darkspawn, horrible as they are, cannot function without an over arching entity to govern them. Perhaps, in their twisted way, the creatures require a thing to think of as God, in order to justify their acts of cruetly and violence. But I have other theories as well, that perhaps the Archdemon is as much a tool to the Darkspawn as the Darkspawn are tools to it. That perhaps the Taint itself, which binds them, is an entity that we are not aware of."

Alim stares into the fire. "The Taint is an entity unto itself?"

Duncan nods. "According to the Chantry lore, the Taint which the Darkspawn carry, is the same as what corrupted the Golden City. The inherent sin of humanity."

Alim nods. "So they say, but it is your people that have doomed the entire world to destruction."

Duncan chuckles. "Perhaps, though the dwarves say otherwise. Regardless, the monsters themselves are merely a vehicle to transport the poison. They are beasts, but they are cunning, and driven to their master's call."

Alim nods. "As are we all."

Uldred snorts. "Paugh, the Chantry's drabble and lies to submit the people."

Wynne stops stirring and sighs. "Uldred, must you go on a tirade? I've been enjoying the silence."

Uldred sneers at the old woman. "Really Wynne? I couldn't tell, with the way you've been projecting your displeasure for being here." Uldred turns to the elf and Warden Commander. "People say that Blood Magic can control minds, but the ire of a woman, mage or not, can be felt for miles."

Alim pauses and looks at the night sky. "There is something to that. I remember when I dropped one of Solona's possessions, a hand mirror, and broke it. She told me it was fine, but I felt

a stabbing pain for a couple days afterwards."

Wynne shakes her head. "That is just guilt, Alim. Solona would never have done something so...heinous." She pulls out four bowls and pours out the stew with a spoon.

Uldred laughs. "Oh, Wynne, your naivette is endearing, you know that?"

Alim does not bother to mention that he does not feel guilt. 'She should know this by now.'

Wynne shakes her head. "Uldred, I won't rise to your jabs. Solona was a good woman." She hands Duncan the first bowl.

The Warden Commander nods graciously and eats with agusto.

Uldred nods. "Oh, yes, good indeed, sweet Wynne. But she had power and she knew how to use it."

Alim accepts his bowl from Wynne with a nod and eats gradually.

Wynne pours herself a bowl, grabs a spoon and sits on her log around the fire.

Uldred raises an eye brow. "I'm to pour for myself then?"

Wynne blows on her stew, staring pointedly at Uldred.

"Fine," says the Senior Enchanter, grumbling as he has to pour out his own rabbit stew.

The rest of the meal passes in silence, quiet revelry for the best meal they'd had since the trip began and likely the last major one they would eat before the final stretch to Ostagar. Also reveling in the first sense of peace the group felt since the trip began and the tension relieves if only because the confrontation happened sooner rather than building to a larger explosion later on.

Uldred yawns. "I think, Commander, Alim, I shall tuck in for the evening. The final watch being mine, I intend to get a good night sleep."

Duncan nods. "Very well Senior Enchanter. Do not worry, I will take the majority of the watch. We Grey Wardens have very little want of sleep." He stands up from the campfire.

Wynne douses the embers and logs with a cold wind. "I wish you both a good night. Duncan, let me know if you wish to sleep. I can stand watch too, you know."

Duncan chuckles. "It is not a mark against you, Wynne. I truly would prefer to get as little sleep as possible."

Wynne grins at the Warden Commander. "Oh there are ways I could help with that, if you'd allow me." For a moment Duncan seems caught off guard, his stance a bit askew and tilted, then he regains his composure and smiles at Wynne. "I am, flattered you would thinks so, but truly, it is best if I am not distracted. Perhaps another time, Senior Enchanter."

Wynne chuckles. "And people say I'm a fuddy duddy. Very well, Duncan, I wish you a good night." Wynne turns to Alim, she says "Good night," then a look intro the Tranquil's eyes reminds her of the vacancy of the entity traveling with them. She stops, bows her head and shakes it lightly as she turns around, walks to and climbs into her tent on the far side of the camp.

Duncan turns to Alim. "Well, I suppose I will go on patrol. This path is a bit more sylvan than I had anticipated."

Alim tilts his head. "I do not think these trees will attack you, Warden Commander, they have no spirits inside them."

Duncan chuckles. "No, I mean...was that a joke?"

Alim stares.

Duncan stares back.

Alim stares.

Duncan stares but frowns lightly at the lack of answer.

Alim stares.

Duncan blinks. "Well, either way, I will be around, Alim. You may rest easy, and I suggest you do, before the trip ahead."

Alim nods. "I will be here, meditating," The Tranquil says, grabs his greatsword and sits in front of his tent. "When I am done, I will not need many hours, I would like to train, if you're search yields no danger."

Duncan raises an eyebrow, then nods with a grunt of approval. "Very well, but you will have to find me, Alim," The Warden Commander says, and fades into the shadows of the trees.

Alim closes his eyes, and surrounds himself like a blanket in the noise of the forest. This is the first time he hears the continuous life that he'd been surrounded by as a child. Like a symphony of music made from the surrounding life, Alim hears the noise, and connects it all together around him. Roving wolves, pecking and calling birds, bats, and the cicadas letting out their dirge before the onset of winter. Everything wants to stand out, to add to the noise, like a new instrument building to the crescendo. That is why when Alim hear the soft, snap snapping, to his left, he is instantly aware of its source, like a badly missed note at the end of the climax.

He is up, his greatsword in his hands, and swings about at the offending noise. behind the tree line on his left, Duncan had gone the other way, which meant that the snapping was done by something or someone else.

A soft shifting, cracking of the branches, a form moving on top in the shadows.

"Identify yourself!" Alim points his greatsword at the form. It moves through the branches, back into the deeper sections of the forest. He stares into the gaping maw of the forest line, the dense foliage and shakes his head. "I am to guard the camp, if it returns, I will be ready."

Alim moves back to the center of camp, and gets into a ready stance with his greatsword, once again bathing himself in the noise of the surrounding forest.

Then he begins to dance. One swing, a foreward step, a second swing, step sideways, a turn about followed by another swing. Horizontal cut and duck, followed by a round about stab up, as though skewering his foe through the neck. Step back up into his original stance and then, he starts the dance again.

He does this for another hour until a voice in the trees. "You are quite agile with such a massive weapon." Duncan's voice does not end the movement or disrupt any action, on the part of the elf.

Alim looks at Duncan. "Was that you earlier, Duncan?"

The Warden Commander frowns. "Me? What do you mean?"

The Tranquil looks about the camp. "I sensed an intruder earlier, I was worried it might have been darkspawn, but it did not attack. I'd assumed it was you for sometime."

Duncan shakes his head. "No, that wasn't me. But I wouldn't worry, I do not sense the darkspawn near here. Whoever it was, likely was more afraid of you, than you were of it. But, back to my original point, you are quite skilled with a greatsword."

The Tranquil nods. "I have had three years to study with the Templars and learn their techniques. While I could never learn their abilities, their martial training was invaluable."

Duncan nods. "And you seemed to have learned a great deal from them, but it seems to me that there is something off in your style."

Alim steps foreward and swings. "Much like my facial expressions, what I learned from Cullen and the other Templars was learned primarily through imitation."

Duncan scratches his beard. "Indeed. Well, while imitation, it certainly is a good one. There is something else though to your technique. You are adding a freedom of form, a melding between stances as you swing. There is little distinctive action that does not seem to move into another." The Warden Commander crosses his arms. "It is as though you are trying to be both a Rogue and Warrior."

Alim spins about and cuts an imaginary foe from the ground up and holds the blade in place. "I spent much time, outside of my enchanting time, and combat training, to master the techniques of stealth and subterfuge."

"There are some who would take offense to your blatant imitation."

Alim turns to the Warden Commander. "You do not approve?"

Duncan snorts. "Hardly that. I merely think that you require more training with a proper Rogue, rather than trying to pretend that you learned to be stealthy amongst men in clanking armor."

Duncan picks up a greatsword of his own from his traveling pack. "Now these are not my specialty, I'm much more partial to a longsword and dagger." He levels the blade at nose level, feet facing the Tranquil. "The Nevarrans are much more proficient as a people with great weapons than we are, most of their Rogues are known to swing greatswords with the same ease as their Warriors. But such techniques are not common to Fereldan, we have very few dragons to deal with in our lands, current circumstances the exception of course." The Warden Commander does an upward swing and spins about with it, holding it with both hands in front of him. "And, unfortunately we don't have the dragon slayers to demonstrate such forms, but I know a few things." Duncan gets into a stance, holding his greatsword behind him, high over his head.

Alim nods and imitates the same stance.

Duncan steps forward and swings down.

Alim blocks.

Duncan steps back and then swings again, his feet sliding wide underneath him.

Alim tries to block the same way, but Duncan pulls the blade back quickly and throws some quickly grabbed sand at the elf's eyes. Alim is caught back for a moment, holding his sword and rubbing the sand from them.

When he opens them again, Duncan's sword is at his neck.

The Commander pulls the blade back. "Now, that, may have seemed unsporting and I understand if you're angry with me."

The Tranquil shakes his head. "I cannot feel anger. What you did was an acceptable maneuver. Do you use it often?" His eyes are stinging, and he can feel the tear ducts watering and dragging the sand out of his sockets.

"As often as I need to, which, given the opponents I've had to fight in my time, many and varied, I've had much need to use it."

"But there isn't always sand to provide such easy distractions."

"No, there isn't. I'm glad you noticed that." Duncan pulls out a bag from his side and pours the contents out, brown sand falling onto the forest floor. "Fighting dirty, using quick distractions is the first part of being a Rogue. We do not fight fair. When you're life is on the line, you will find that there is little you will not do to keep it, and you must always be prepared."

"Perhaps for you. I feel no such anxieties."

Duncan frowns. "That needs to change. I cannot convince you to love life or to seek its infinite mysteries. But you are a Grey Warden now, and till the day you die, you must pursue your life nad continue to pursue it to the utmost of your abilities. You have a new duty, not to yourself, but to the entire world. In War: Victory, in Peace, Vigilance, and in Death, Sacrifice. Our work is never done until we finally fall. Do you understand me, Alim?"

Alim nods. "I will try apply your words as a new rule to follow, Duncan."

The Warden Commander smiles. "I'm glad to hear it, Alim." He returns to his ready stance, holding the greatsword at level. "Now lets continue." They practice amongst the trees for several hours. Eventually the sound of rustling cloth and a flapping tent signals Uldred's rise. The Magister yawns and takes his place next to Duncan and Alim. "Gentlemen."

"Senior Enchanter." Duncan nods.

Alim stares.

"I've come to relieve you, Duncan. You may get some sleep, now." The Warden Commander sighs.

"I was starting to think I could go a night without sleep. Very well." Duncan turns to Alim. "If you'd like to keep practicing on the way to Ostagar, I'd be more than happy to show you what I know."

The Tranquil nods. "That would be most beneficial, Duncan."

Duncan sighs. "Very well, I will see you both in a few hours." He walks a dead man's walk to his tent, crawling in with a severity and almost lethargy of one who truly hated rest.

Uldred's eyes follow Duncan every step of the way and when The Warden Commander dissappears beneath the flap he turns to Alim.

Who is staring at him already.

Uldred steps back and shakes his bald head. "Ah, you my boy are a true practitioner of subtle scares."

Alim blinks. "I'm sorry, Enchanter Uldred. I did not mean to frighten you."

"Quite fine, my boy. Have you gone to bed yet? I seem to recall even you needing sleep." Alim shrugs. "I find that I require it less and less sometimes, there were disturbances around the camp. I've already gotten what meditation I need. I can rest more once we get to Ostagar." He pulls out his greatsword and starts swinging.

"You set a standard much too high, my boy."

Alim stops his swinging and returns his gaze to his old teacher. "Only because others taught me it was best. Was there something you wanted Senior Enchanter?"

"Did you really try to bring down the Tower, Alim?" Silence. Not something Alim prone to employing, but Uldred can hear the hesitation in the Tranquil's breath and his movements.

And while still able to make greater choice than most of his kind, perhaps due only to his sheer willpower, Alim feels compulled into answering Uldred. "Yes."

Uldred nods. "I see. I never doubted it, I merely wanted to make sure with my own eyes and ears." He stares into the shadows around the camp, taking in the noise as Alim did earlier. He closes his eyes and begins to hum to the noise of the insects in the night. "You see, when you experience the wonders of the outside world, and taste the reality of life outside The Circle, you would slowly start to hate the Tower more and more, if you were just a regular Mage." He peers as Alim with one open eye and smiles at the elf. "But you were born outside the Tower, Alim, you had distinct and powerful memories of life outside of it."

Alim looks around at the forest, the lush green grass beneath him has a bounce to it. "This place is nothing like the home I remember."

The Senior Enchanter squints at the elf. "Your home?"

The Tranquil does not answer.

Uldred shrugs. "Very well, I shall not pry. I give you that much respect, my boy."

Alim nods. "I am aware, Senior Enchanter."

Uldred frowns, but presses on. "All that aside, I'm just curious, why did you want to bring the Tower down?"

Alim is still silent as his old teacher rambles about his state of life.

"No sense of empathy anymore, eh? That's what you were trying to show Gregoir. Not that the fool would listen to anything sensible, he's only just better than that fanatic Meredith. You would have been executed in a heart beat by that woman."

Alim nods. "I am already aware, Senior Enchanter, of my 'luck'" Alim rolls his tongue on the last word.

Uldred chuckles. "Perhaps, but what I'm trying to let you know, Alim, is that I understand." The Enchanter opens his other eye and turns to the Tranquil. "They toy with our lives and they mark and brand us like cattle. It's time someone spat in their eyes, and I couldn't have been happier to know that it was you."

The Tranquil is silent again.

"While I've post poned any uprisings, for now, with our new support from Teryn Loghain, the Mages of the world will finally get their chance to shine. Alim," Uldred says his voicing becoming solemn. "Your sacrifice, and what you've done for Mages will not be forgotten. You've given us the tools, for when this Blight is over, the world will finally know the horrors we go through. Alim. I will not let your sacrifice be in vain, my boy."

Alim stares at Uldred, and swings his greatsword again, cutting into the air. "First, Senior Enchanter, I agree on your point, it is time someone spat in the Templars faces." The elf turns to him. "But, I will contest, no you do not understand. Only once you are like me, and Owain, you will not. You cannot." The elf holds the greatsword at the Enchanter, his eyes are blank.

Uldred steps back.

Alim pulls his greatsword back and resumes his singing. "Lastly, it was not just my sacrifice. There were four others who shouldn't have had to undergo the Rite." A massive two handed downward swipe.

Uldred shakes his head at his old apprentice. "That, Alim, was not your fault. We had a leak some where. I'm inclined to think it might have been Jowan."

Alim stops swinging his greatsword, dropping it on the blade, breathing heavy. "Jowan would not have told anyone about our meetings." A crunch of the leaves behind the Tranquil gives him pause, and he steps forward to check the bush. A rabbit gingerly hops out of the bush.

"It's just a rabbit my dear boy." The Senior Enchanter chuckles.

Alim returns to the Enchanter's side. "Jowan was close to me, to all of us. We all swore oaths, even Solona. Those that followed however, may not have been of sturdier material."

Uldred paces back and forth. "Perhaps, I know we tried to recruit Anders, but he refused. While he made many half assed attempts at escape he was ever the leash follower as dear Wynne." Uldred stops then turns back to Alim. "I'll admit, there were potentially a few possible leaks, but my bet is still on Jowan.

Alim shakes his head. "If there is so much potential doubt in your hypothesis, on what then are you basing your accusations?"

Uldred shrugs. "Gut instinct? The boy was always a little wormish. He fell for that chantry sow, did he not?"

Alim stares. "Then you have no actual basis for your accusations."

Uldred raises an eyebrow at the elf. "You have a better idea?"

Alim swings his greatsword again, the rush of air around him picking dust from the trail. "Solona."

Uldred blinks. "You can't be serious."

Alim spins and swings his greatsword about in a circle, flinging the dust about him. "If Jowan is suspect, then one must consider everyone else, and of the entire group, Solona's actions were always suspect and ployful."

Uldred frowns. "You mean, you think she made herself into an abomination on purpose? Why?"

Alim is silent, he stops his swing and holds the blade out at length fourty five degrees from his shoulder.

The bald Mage shakes his head and stares at the ground. "You think," he says looking up at Alim. "Did she do it to avenge them Tranquilizing you?"

Alim lets the sword fall back to his side and lets the blade rest on the ground, breathing in heavy breaths. "Perhaps. But, that comes into conflict as to why she would have told the Templars about our meeting."

Uldred looks at his old apprentice. "Jowan was the most prominent one in my mind, that he would have told the priestess."

Alim turns to his old teacher. "Lily came two years ago, after I was Tranquilized."

Uldred puts his hand to his chin. "And there it is, so then the next best possible person was Solona, but it makes no sense! Why would she rat you, you of all people, out to the Templars?"

Alim pauses and looks down. "I do not know. I prefer to think that it was fluke chance that they found us and that, yes, she did turn herself into a monster to avenge me."

Uldred scratches his chin. "You prefer?"

Alim nods. "I do. My memories stabilize my perception of this world. If my memories prove unreliable, my perception is as equally unreliable."

The Enchanter chuckles. "Truly, it amazes me that you have hung out as long as you have. Memory dims over time Alim, and sometimes we change it to suit our needs or desires. You will not be able to rely on it forever."

Alim nods, pauses, then straps his greatsword to his back. "I think I shall go return to my meditation. I will see you at dawnbreak, Enchanter Uldred."

The Senior Enchanter nods in turn. "Good night, Alim."

The Tranquil walks off into the dark. In passing the tree where from the rabbit leapt, Alim looks behind to check the ground around the pine. There is a soft spot of broken grass, perhaps about the size of a large dog or a mabari or kneeling human. Alim enters the camp and checks the tents of both Wynne and Duncan in passing. Both are lying, Duncan fitfully, in their rolls. It is darkness around him, again. He resides once again at the log, standing, his greatsword at his side. He has no fear of shadows, for whatever resides in them is just as belind as he. Save for his ears, which note the movements in the bushes ahead of camp. The elf moves silently to Duncan's tent. "Master Duncan."

The Warden Commander jolts awake. "What is it, Alim?"

"We are being watched."

The Warden Commander bolts up and grabs his longsword and dagger, rolling out of his tent and into a full fighting stance in less than a second. His longsword in front and his dagger reared back, Duncan stalks about the camp with Alim following suit.

"In the trees, the bushes up ahead. Are they darkspawn?" The elf grips his greatsword tighter. The scraping noise of wooded soles and falling bark surrounded them, just as before.

"No, they are not. They are mortal, but I don't understand why they're here...?"

"They?" The elf inclines his head. "Alim!" A red flash and the explosion of a massive fireball signaled Uldred's call for help.

"Alim, Duncan!" Wynne climbs out of her roll and pulls to bear her Enchanter staff. "Where is Uldred?"

"We seem to be under attack," The Tranquil says, moving off to aid the bald Enchanter. Duncan runs off following behind.

Wynne keeps pace, huffing and puffing, running with her staff. "Attack? By whom?"

"We are not under attack," Duncan shouts. "Uldred must have seen one of our visitors and panicked. We have to get to him before it's too late!"

The old woman casts Rejuvination on herself, and fights to keep up with the two men. "Too late for what? For them to kill Uldred?"

Alim shakes his head. "I think not, the man is a fiend of primal and spirit magics."

The Warden Commander pulls ahead of the two of them. "It is not him I am worried about, it is the Dalish he will kill!" Duncan bursts through the folliage and onto the scene, Alim and Wynne trailing him.

Ahead is a scorched earth, the ground misshapen with a massive crater, and the surrounding trees burnt to a crisp. Uldred is standing his hands alight with flame, glaring at a troup of Dalish elves, their weapons poised and ready to strike, an old woman at the center of their group, her gnarled wooded staff swirling with protective energy around her and her fellow elves.

Uldred turns to Duncan. "Ah, Warden Commander, we've been spyed on by the Dalish!"

"Stop, by all that is just in the world stop this foolishness, Uldred!" Duncan shouts.

"Warden Commander?" The Enchanter raises an eye brow.

"Duncan!" The old woman at the center of the Dalish shield shouts out to the bronze skinned man.

"Please, everyone, put down your weapons." Duncan stands between the two groups, holding his hands out in a gesture of cease and desist.

"Put down my weapons? It's a bit difficult for me to do that, Duncan!" Uldred indignantly shouts, his hands still aflame.

"This shemlen mage of yours attacked my scouting band!" Shouts the old elf.

"I understand," Duncan says to the old woman. "Uldred, let go of your magic, Keeper Marethari, please order your elves to stand down."

The elves continue to hold their bows at ready, their Dar'missu daggers and longswords gleaming vehemently from their belts. "I am a Grey Warden, these people are traveling under my protection, I will defend them and myself if necessary."

Marethari turns to her elves and whispers. "Drop your weapons."

The elves blink and turn to the their Keeper.

"Do as I say, drop your weapons."

"But, Keeper, the Shemlen-" A bald hunter balks.

"Do as I say, Lethalin!" The old woman barks. Reluctantly, the Dalish elves drop their weapons, the few that were stalking still in the trees come out and drop their weapons to the ground, indignified, but trusting in the wisdom of their Keeper.

Duncan turns to Uldred, who douses the fire in his hands, and cross his arms. Wynne walks up to the Senior Enchanter and casts a healing spell on an open wound on his neck that at first hesitates to close, then, as though released from duty, the blood returns to the source of the hole in Uldred's arm, which closes completely. "Why did you panic, Uldred?"

"They snuck up on me, surprised me. One of them fell out of a tree and pointed his daggers at me, cut me." He points to his arm, which did indeed look scarred by a blade.

Alim walks up to Duncan. "You know these Dalish?"

Duncan nods, and strides forward toward the Dalish troupe, with Alim in tow. "Yes, I need to have a word with their Keeper. This is not their usual hunting ground." Out of the troupe walks the old woman, the tall bald Dalish hunter beside her, a lean man with a massive great bow on his back and two Dar'missu daggers on his belt.

The old woman waves at Duncan. "And here I thought I might never see you again, old friend."

Duncan chuckles. "Not yet, Keeper. The Blight is upon the lands, I cannot go so quietly into the Deep Roads."

The old woman smiles. "It is good to see you, Duncan, though I wish it were under better circumstances."

Duncan nods. "And you too, Keeper Marethari," The Warden Commander says, turning to the side to introduce Alim. "This is may recruit, Alim Surana."

Keeper Marethari turns to Alim and nods. "Well met. Are you one of the Circles Mages?"

Alim pauses and nods to the Keeper. "I was one, yes Keeper. I am one of the Tranquil Mages." The Keeper pauses at Alim's monotone voice. "Permit me, Da'len, but your voice, and your face, there is something odd..."

"I have been cut off from the Fade, stripped of my magic by the Circle, as well as my emotions, Keeper."

The old elven woman's eyes light up and turn to Duncan. "Is this true, Duncan?"

Duncan nods to the old woman. "It is indeed, young Alim here was taken three years ago by the Templars to be stripped of his powers and branded for the rest of his life for the practice of Blood Magic."

The old woman nods, but feels no shock at Alim's crimes. "The Blood Magics are not forbidden among our kind, though they are frowned upon in initiates. Most are not able to handle the Power of Life."

Duncan nods. "A truth, Marethari." He points to the symbol on Alim's forhead. "It is that mark by which the Templars remove a mage's power."

The bald hunter steps forward. "Your shemlen Templars strip an elvhen of his gifts given by the Creators and his feelings?" He shakes his head. "Does your people's cruelty know no end?"

"Theron!" Marethari snaps at The Hunter.

"I apologize, Duncan, this is Theron, our clan's most prodigious hunter." The Keeper frowns at The Hunter.

The bald man, bows his head. "I did not mean offense to you Keeper." He bows in turn to Duncan. "Or to you Warden Commander."

Duncan nods. "It is quite alright, Keeper. I agree, Theron, it is a brutish practice, but even those stripped can find meaning in life, and Alim here is proof of that, otherwise I would not be recruiting him."

Alim turns to Theron. "I would say in these circumstances that I am proud to serve the Grey Wardens."

Theron inclines his head at the smaller elf. "But you do not feel pride?"

Alim shakes his head. "No I do not."

Theron bows. "You live a half life, da'len, but you do not break, Vir Bor'Assan."

Alim bows his head and then looks at the hunter. "I have adapted. I promised I would never submit."

Marethari squints at the Tranquil. "You look familiar actually, your face reminds me of..."

Alim turns to the Keeper. "My father was a Dalish Keeper, his head was bald."

Theron blinks at the elf. "You are Dalish?"

Marethari steps forward and looks at Alim with wide eyes. "You are Zathrian's child! Your face has his long chin, and you have his forehead, if you don't mind me saying."

Alim stares and then blinks twice. "I had never thought to dwell on my fathers forehead, he had no hair to tell where it ended."

Marethari laughs and puts a hand over her head. "Oh you'd be surprised. He wasn't always bald, in fact when he was younger he had a mop of brown hair, just like yours." She rests on her staff a moment and turns to Duncan. "If I may, I'd like to talk to you, and that one," she says nudging her head toward Uldred, who was still scowling at the old woman with his arms crossed. "In private, there are things you need to know."

Duncan scratches his beard and turns to Marethari. "I would like to think you refer to the Blight, but, I assume you mean something aside from the incoming Darkspawn invasion."

The Keeper nods. "I do, Duncan. It's why my people had to leave the Brecillian forest. Please, we must talk in private about this."

Duncan nods. "Very well, Keeper. I will do as you ask." Duncan turns to the Tranquil. "Alim, you and Theron inform the other elves that we will be sharing this land for camp."

Alim raises an eyebrow at The Warden Commander. "Sir?"

Duncan turns to Marethari. "I assume your convoy is just near here?"

The Keeper nods. "That is correct, Duncan. Now, shall we?" She gestures to the side with Uldred and Wynne. Duncan nods and then nods in turn to Alim.

Alim turns to Theron. "Would you like to speak to your clan?"

Theron nods. "I would. You are welcome to come da'lethalin." He walks to the gathering of elves huddled in mass.

Alim follows Theron with a silent step. "I would. I would also like to inquire about your culture, if you would educate me. I am curious to know about my father's people."

The two elves stand before the Dalish Hunters. The elves are standing uneasy, shifting from side to side, eyeing the new elf coming with their clan's most talented Warrior.

Of the group, a woman steps forward with a staff and jittery hands. "Ah, Theron!" The elf runs forward.

"Merrill." The tall elf nods as she slides into place in front of The Hunter. "Alim this is Merril, our Keeper's first and one of my closest friends."

"Pleased to meet you, Alim." The black haired magess bows.

"And I, you, miss Merrill." The Tranquil bows.

"Oh, don't say 'miss' Merrill, you make me sound old." The Keeper's first smiles.

A rumbling from the crowd. A hunter bursts through the many Dalish Hunters, a longbow strapped to his back. "Theron! What has happened? Why is our Keeper conversing with the shemlen?" A red haired elf with corn rows. He turns to Alim and points. "And who is this flat-ear?"

Theron scowls at the elf. "This is da'lethalin, Alim, Montow. He is a Keeper's son, taken away by the shemlen years ago, pay him respect. He is one of our own."

The red haired elf looks down at his feet. "I-no you are right, Theron." The Dalish looks up at the Tranquil and nods his head. "Forgive me, I spoke out of turn."

Alim nods. "You are forgiven, I feel no hate." Alim steps before the Dalish elves and speaks in a clear steady voice. "I am Alim Surana, son of the Keeper Zathrian. I was taken from my home, and my clan, when the Templars invaded our home."

Merrill turns to the Tranquil. "Oh my! Zathrian?"

Alim turns to Merill. "Yes, why?"

"He was a well known Keeper of these lands. He was old, very old, but he always looked so young. Many people rumored that he had discovered our ancient immortality..." She blinks and peers down at the little elf, squinting her eyes at his forehead.

Alim blinks at the Dalish woman. "Is something amiss...miss?"

Merrill blinks and steps back, holding her hand over her mouth. "I'm sorry, I was looking at the mark on your head, it's a mark I'm not familliar with. I mistook it for a vasaalin at first."

Alim nods. "I understand. It is a Tevinter symbol."

Theron grunts at that word. "A brand from the cursed shemlen empire that destroyed our home land." He turns to the Tranquil "What does it mean, Alim?"

The Tranquil turns to the elves at large and yells. "It means 'Peace.'" He turns to the Keeper's first. "They stripped me of my magic by cutting my connection to the Fade."

Merrill blinks. "But wouldn't that remove your..."

Alim nods. "My emotions."

Merrill puts her left hand on her hip and rests slightly on her staff at the right and tilts her head at Alim. "You're certainly expressive for someone without feelings."

Alim turns to the side. "I suspect that perhaps there is something to my birth which allows me more expression than most of my people, but what it was, I do not know."

Theron nods to Alim. "You have survived, da'lethalin, despite the odds. It is how we know you to be Dalish."

Alim looks at the crowd around them. "I think we should let them know about the sleeping arrangements."

Theron nods. "True, we got off track." He turns to Merrill, not quite frowning, but a very stony flat face pointed at her.

The Keeper's first doesn't flinch and giggles instead. "Sorry, can't help it sometimes. I get distracted." She looks at Alim and smiles at him.

Alim stares.

Theron sighs. "You distract other people as well, though. That's the problem." He steps forward and speaks to the other elves. "We will be sharing the forest here with the shemlen. Our Keeper has business with the Warden." A few of the elves grunt.

The one with red hair scowls in disgust. "That shemlen Mage attacked our hunters first."

Theron turns to Montow. "Regardless, lethalin, we must do as our Keeper wills. There will be peace between us," he says turning to Alim, nodding. He turns back to the other Dalish. "In form the aravels that we will rest here. I doubt we will be setting up camp. I believe the Keeper will have us moving North again, shortly. But I think she has much to inform the Warden Commander of."

The Tranquil nods in turn. "I agree. For now, we should take this time to rest and ease ourselves from tonights...misunderstanding."

The Dalish Warrior chuckles. "They couldn't take away your sense of humor, I see."

The Tranquil shrugs. "Irony is somewhat easier to perceive without personal bias getting in the way."

They spend the rest of the night till morning together, Alim walking amongst the Dalish for the first time in his life, hearing the stories of their haren, listening to the voices of other elves not born in captivity. The fire once again alight, and the faces of Dalish elves glowing in the dark morning of the forest. He is with his people once again.

And it means nothing to him, other than another sign of what he could have been, a memory in the distance which had not been born. But he still keeps his ears open for the details they give him. The fall of Arlathan, the elvhen pantheon, most of all, the Brecillian Forests new inhabitants.

"Werewolves," Haren Paivel intones, his gaunt face peering into the fire, his white hair ragged and musty from traveling on the road without rest.

"Werewolves?" The Tranquil asks, raising an eyebrow. "Do you jest, master Paivel?"

"Our Haren does not mislead, Alim," Theron reprimands. "The Werewolves are quite real."  
The Tranquil looks at the Warrior. "I imagine relations with them were hostile?"

Theron is silent, staring into the fire.

Merrill turns to Alim. "Well, there were some initial skirmishes."

Theron grunts and digs his feet deeper into the sand.

"But later, they left us alone, when Marethari arranged a parley." The Keeper's First smiles at Alim.

"Parley?" Alim asks.

Merrill nods. "We found out the Werewolves were intelligent enough to converse, and that they had a hierarchy."

"Amongst them was a wolf named Swiftrunner, and he seemed to speak for his people.

They made it clear that the Brecillian forest was their home and they were its guardians. The spirit of the very forest was watching over them and Swiftrunner was its envoy."

"We couldn't defy a spirit of Nature, it goes against the will of the Creators. So, we kept our

distance and respected each other's mutual need for a home."

Alim turns to the fire. "So, they were civil at first?"

Theron nods. "Yes, then they started to change, more than before. They became…I'm not certain, what it is, but they became diseased, somehow."

Alim looks up at that. "Could it be the Taint?"

Merrill frowns. "It could have been. The decay of their fur and skin seemed in line with details following the Taint. But how did they all become Tainted, there were no Darkspawn in the Forest?"

Alim puts a finger to his chin. "The Taint is a thing with a will of its own. If it can find a way to infect, it will."

Theron digs his legs deeper into the sand. He gets up and walks away from the fire, pacing back and forth.

"Alim, da'lethalin, may I ask you a question?" Theron says as they sit by the fire.

"You may, Theron." The Tranquil nods.

"Why are you following the shemlen?"

Alim inclines his head at the Dalish Hunter. "I do not understand, I am a Grey Warden recruit, Theron. It is my duty to stop The Blight."

Theron shakes his head. "I do not mean that, I mean..." The Hunter looks about for Marethari. She is sitting with Duncan, they are laughing. Wynne sits beside them, calmly sipping tea, whilst Uldred fumes, eyeing the Dalish all around them. "I mean why do you not take a troop of Dalish, find the shemlen's secrets, and then we Dalish can deal with this threat? Leaving it to the shemlen to demand aid from us and the durgen'len is foolishness. They will take the strongest of our peoples and sacrifice them to those monsters. If such a thing happens, there will be no strong elves left to aid the clans." The Hunter looks down and clenches his fists, then releases them with a tired sigh. "It just seems as though are people are being used again."

Alim does not say anything but stares into the fire. "I have thought about this, apparently every human nation on Thedas has Grey Wardens. They're the strongest warriors of every nation and people brought together explicitly to fight the Darkspawn, and yet it is only the human nations that maintain them. It seems quite foolish for The Dalish not to have their own, or even the Dwarves for that matter."

Merrill is tossing bits of rocks into the fire, hitting the wood. "Our Keeper says the durghenlen spend almost all their time fighting the darkspawn, and that they lose many each winter. It seems like if anyone should have Wardens, it's them."

Alim frowns into the flames, then looks at Merril and Theron. "Perhaps we should start now, would you two like to join me and Duncan on the trip to Ostagar?"

Both elves look up at the Tranquil with wide eyes and then glance at each other.

Merrill begins giggling. "Oh, you had me for a second there, Alim! I don't think we'd make good, Wardens, right Theron?"

Theron though is frowning now, he glances at Duncan, then at Alim, then at the rest of his clan. He grips a dagger at his side, and the bow at his back. He gets up, paces back and forth then looks down at the Tranquil. "Do you think Duncan would allow it?"

Alim shrugs his shoulders. "As far as I know, The Grey Wardens accept anyone willing to join them, on the other hand, there is evidence to suggest that some part of the initiation is fatal."

Merrill frowns. "What makes you say that?"

The Tranquil turns back to the fire. "I had much time to read in the Tower. History was always a point of fascination for me, when I discovered the story of Garahel, I devoted my life to the idea that I would one day be as great as him." Alim pulls out his greatsword, and sits the blade into the dirt by his side. "While I no longer feel such aspirations, I must acknowledge that were it not for his deeds, I would not be where I am today."

Theron frowns. "But this Garahel was not a Dalish, Alim. He was one of the flat ears that serve the shemlen."

Alim looks up at the Dalish Hunter. "Please, do not call them flat ears. Many of them have lived in worse conditions than either I, or you."

Merrill squints at the Tranquil. "How do you know this, Alim?"

The Tranquil does not look at the Keeper's First. "I was not the only elf at the Tower. There were others, from various Alienages around Fereldan. Highever is apparently a well conditioned one, but Denerim as far as I've heard is a squalor best burnt down." The Tranquil's eyes squint into the flames.

Theron sits back down next to the Tranquil. "Even without your emotions, you cannot look at our peoples plight with satisfaction. Alim, you are an inspiration to all elves, da'lethalin."

Alim frowns at Theron. "That means 'cousin' in Dalish, correct?"

Theron shakes his hand up and down. "It's used for younger members of the clans, and as close a word as comes to it. It is closer to meaning 'little brother' or 'little sister' without a gender tied to the word."

At the first hint of sunlight, the two parties gather up their gear. The Dalish make quick work of leaving the camp, leaping into the branches of the trees and moving silently between the trunks. Theron is standing beside Alim as he gathers up his tent gear. "So you will move to the south, and face the horde at the old shemlen ruins of Ostagar?"

Alim nods. "Yes, it is to be the great staging ground of a defense against the Darkspawn." Theron frowns and shifts his feet from side to side.

"Alim, I must ask." Alim looks up at the Elven Hunter. "Would Duncan accept me in to the Wardens?"

The Tranquil puts a finger to his chin, then stands up and moves past The Hunter. "I do not know, but in all situations such as this, deliberation like this is foolishness when the answer can be obtained. I will ask."

Theron blinks as the Tranquil walks off with a dignified march toward his Commander. Duncan and Keeper Marethari are talking hushedly with Uldred and Wynne, who both have gaunt faces, staring intently at the Keeper. All four silence once The Tranquil steps into view.

Duncan steps up from the campfire and greets the elf. "What is it, Alim?"

Alim looks up at The Warden Commander. "Sir, Theron requests to join the Wardens." "Oh?" The Warden Commander looks at the Dalish across the way. Theron steps up to the two, his face set in wooden stiffness. "Is this true?"

"It is, Grey Warden Commander."

The Warden Commander waves his hand. "Please, you may call me Duncan. And I would have no problem with that, unless you have any objections?" He turns to Marethari.

The Keeper looks up at Theron with a raised eye brow. "Theron, is this what you want?" Theron nods. "It is, Keeper."

Marethari does not speak, instead she stands and walks past Duncan to her clans hunter. She looks into Theron's eyes.

"You wish to represent our people against the Darkspawn?"

Theron nods.

Marethari looks down at the Hunter's chest. She places her hand on it.

Theron winces.

"Are there any other reasons you wish to go, lethalin?" She looks up into his eyes.

Theron says nothing.

Marethari turn around and looks at Duncan. "I'm sorry, Duncan. I cannot let Theron go, he is our clan's best hunter, and if we are to go north we will need his bow. Perhaps, under other circumstances I would relent, but we lost too many of our kind to the Weres."

Duncan nods. "I understand, Keeper." He turns to Theron. "I am sorry, but I must respect your Keeper's wishes."

Theron looks down at that, his knees buckling. "I-I understand, Keeper." Theron walks away from the fire and sits back with Merrill, staring into the flames.

Marethari turns to Duncan. "Thank you for respecting my wishes, Duncan."

The Warden Commander smiles. "I could hardly take away someone so important your people, not unless it there was no other choice." He glances at Alim.

She smiles in return, then her face becomes stern. "If you can find the treaties Duncan I will call for the other clans."

Duncan nods at the Keeper and then turns to Alim. "You'd better go pack your things and say good-bye to the others."

"You must tell the King, Duncan," The Keeper says.

The Warden Commander nods. "I will Marethari, I promise."

The Keeper shakes her head. "They only grow in number while you wait. It would not do well for your army to be attacked on two fronts."

Duncan nods. "You have my word, Keeper. I will not fail you." He turns to Alim. "Are you ready to leave, Alim?"

"Yes, Commander," The Tranquil says.

"Good."

The party assembles at the road, several of the Dalish standing at a distance from it in the trees.

Theron is silent, slugging his pack over his shoulder, his bow held in his right hand, a quiver hanging off of the pack.

Merrill is standing next to him with her black staff, fidgeting on her feet. In her under arm is a book.

Alim is staring at both of them, his expression blank.

Merrill pulls the books out and hands it to Alim. "This is a book of our lore; I thought you might like to take it with you."

Alim takes the book, the brown leather, adorned with a tree, and a clasp wrapped out it. He flips through it. "Thank you, Merrill." He unclasps it, flips through, and nods, re-clasping it.

Merrill smiles, a small blush forming on her face. "Don't mention it. Oh and about earlier…"

The Tranquil looks at The Keeper's First.

"I was the one watching you earlier, in the trees. I'm sorry I scared you, but…you pulled out your greatsword and I got scared."

For a moment, The Tranquil says nothing, then a line forms on his lips. "So you were stalking me from afar, then?" The thin line grows into a shit eating grin is just as listless as any other he makes, but Merrill does not notice.

"Oh stop." Merrill's blush gets deeper and shit hits Alim on the arm. "You're quite a tease, for someone without feelings."

Theron grunts, for the two of them to finish their banter. The Hunter looks down at the Tranquil. "Be safe, Alim. Remember what you've learned, and that if you need a place to call home, The Dalish will always be open to you."

Alim nods at The Hunter. "I will, Theron."

Alim turns around to see Duncan, Wynne, and Uldred standing with their packs a small distance away looking at the Tranquil and his…friends. 'Jowan was my friend when I was a Mage, a friend when I was Tranquil.' He looks at the two elves in front of him. 'There's no reason I can't have more.' Alim bows to the two elves in front of him. "Good-bye, both of you. Thank you for everything."

The Hunter and The Keeper's First smile at their friend, and wave as he steps onto the beaten path with the Warden Commander. He falls in step with his Duncan, moving onto his future with the Grey Wardens.

"Do you think he'll be alright, Theron?" Merrill asks.

The Hunter crosses his arms. "I'm not certain. While I pray The Creators will give him reprieve, I fear Alim's destiny is one that they will mold through hardship and struggle. But I have faith that they will watch over him."

Merrill puts a hand to her chest and leans on her staff. "I hope so, Theron. I hope so."

()()()()()()()()()()()()(

Ostagar, its spiring towers and battle masts can be seen even in the distance from Alim's low vantage point. "We will hold the Darkspawn horde here," Duncan says, brushing past the dense foliage. The road at this point in the trip was densely overgrown, thanks in large part to the fortresses long disuse. "Only recently has the once proud fortress been made ready for our use. It is here that we will make our stand." The group steps out into the now clear section of Ostagar, and the sun over head is shining down on the lush forest bordered by a massive swamp below in the valley.

The sound of clanking plate armor, set at a brisk pace, and the over bearing light which shines off of him, announces Cailan Therin's entrance to the world of Alim Surana. "Ho there! Duncan!" The King of Fereldan shouts.

"Who's this bufoon?" Uldred whispers to Wynne.

"It's the king!" Wyness's hushed whisper to Uldred.

"Your majesty! I didn't expect-"

"What? A royal welcome? I was beginning to you think that you'd miss out on all the fun." The King looks into the Warden's eyes, and nudges his eyebrows lightly. Duncan shakes his head and smiles.

"Not all your majesty." Duncan smiles.

The King stand abreast Duncan at attention. "Then I'll have the mighty Duncan fighting by my side after all. Glorious!" He turns to Alim, his feet gliding with an ease of nonchalance, despite the armor he wears. "And who is this?"

"Forgive me your majesty, this is my recruit."

The King nods. "Yes, yes, the one you spoke about in your letters. There's no need to be so formal. Ho there, friend, might I know your name?"

The Tranquil can only blink as the blonde man's immaculate aura, his sense of pleasantness, and is dually incapable of missing the mask that it is. An imitation, likely of the Kings own old sense of naivette and childhood antics. As such... "Hello your majesty, my names, Alim." The Tranquil smiles at The King and lightly bows his head.

The King smiles in turn. "And my name is Cailan Therin. A pleasure to meet you, Alim." The king puts a gauntleted finger to his chin. "By your robes I'd suspect you hail from the Circle of Magi?"

Alim nods. "Indeed, your majesty. I am a Tranquil."

The King raises an eye brow, looking down and noticing Alim's robes for the first time. "Oh, my. That I had not expected, well I dare say I can already see your far more expressive than most of your fellows." He looks up and notices the greatsword on the elf's back. "And far more heavily armed it seems."

The elf nods and grips his greatsword. "I have studied with the Templars since my Rite."

The King smiles. "You'll no doubt have to show me your technique. Might I suggest the battle tomorrow? The Darkspawn are gathering for an offensive, it would be the perfect opportunity to test your skills."

Alim's grip tightens. "I look forward to that your majesty."

Duncan walks up to the King. "Your uncle sends his greetings, and wants to remind you that Redcliffe forces could be here in less than a week."

The King shakes his head and smiles. "Eamon just wants in on all the fun. We've won two battles against these monsters and tomorrow shall be no different. There are other factors, of course. I'm not even sure if this is a true Blight."

"Disappointed, your majesty?" Duncan inclines his head at Cailan.

"I was kind of hoping for a story like in the old tales, a King riding with the fabled Grey Wardens against a Tainted God. But I suppose this will have to do." The King turns about and nods. "I must return to camp, before Loghain sends out a search party, fair well, Grey Wardens."

The Warden Commander returns. "Your majesty."

The King leaves back across the giant stone bridge.

Uldred and Wynne step up. Uldred's face is indignant and sneering. "The brazen glory hound didn't even acknowledge us!"

Wynne stays the Senior Enchanter with her hand. "He was here to see the Warden's Uldred." The Enchanter crosses his arms. "Feh, as though the Mages have no significance."

"There are already plenty of Mages here, Uldred."

Alim turns to Duncan, who nods, and the two set forward as the two Mages begin bickering again. Ostagar camp is a bevy of movement. All around, Alim can hear the noise of marching troops, each bearing the insignia of banns and arldoms, places he's never been, but heard of in books.

Upon high to the right of him a priestess stands calling down the Chant of Light to the many soldiers, some ambivalent, most listening in reverence to her holy words. Alim walks past and gives neither the priestess nor her soldiers another glance. He need never hear or listen to the Chant, it is no longer a part of his life. But he hears the words all the same. "And should you fall, know that your sacrifice will not be in vain. For when we die we all go to The Maker." The nods and clapping hands repel the Tranquil and he walks down toward the Circle encampment. He sees the familliar faces of Mages from the Tower and many Templars surrounding them. Uldred and Wynne behind him pick up the pace and move past Alim.

"I will see if anyone needs healing at the medical encampment." The Spirit Healer moves off.

Uldred turns to Alim. "I think, my boy, that I shall go see to our mutual benefactor. As should you, eventually."

Alim raises an eyebrow at the Senior Enchanter. "You will be seeing Master Loghain?" Uldred nods. "Indeed. He'll want to know abou Keeper Marethari whispering to Duncan about the Brecillian Forest. They left Wynne and I conveniently away from the discussion." The Enchanter puts a finger to his chin, then shakes his head. "I will see you later, Alim."

The Tranquil nods. "Enchanter." And he moves past Uldred, closer to the Circle camp, a peaceful voice catches his attention.

"Alim Surana."

Alim turns slowly to face another Tranquil, a man with dark skin and mid length brown hair. "Kalek, it is good to see you, are you well."

The other Tranquil, standing next to a locked chest box smiles at the elf. "I am. It is good to see you as well, have you been brought to aid The Circle?"

Alim shakes his head. "No, I've been recruited into the Grey Wardens."

The other Tranquil nods. "I see. Is Owain well?"

Alim nods. "He is. When last I left The Circle he was in good condition."

Kalek nods. "I see. Then all is as it should be." He looks at Alim and smiles.

Alim looks about The Circle Camp, and sees a Fomarri tent, the signature yellow of the Tranquil flag marking their place in the army. "Are there any enchanting materials, Kalek?"

The brown haired Tranquil nods. "Indded, would you like a moment to see the others? We also have materials on hand."

Alim smiles. "Yes, I would like that, Kalek."

()()()()()()()()(

Hours pass, mid morning turns into early afternoon. The Fomarri tent houses none of the Tranquil Alim knew from the Tower, but were no less willing to let him do construction work on making Runes. He manages to construct a few simple healing Runes, but after extra effort is able to construct a single tier 4 Energy Rune. It has many applications, but the simplest of which was to be a dire counter measure if he found himself against an enemy he could not handle.

There would likely be many of those in the coming days ahead, and unfortunately, he would not likely get the materials to make such a Rune again in the future. A pity lyrium only goes so far in enchantment work, and that so much of it is required to actually make even the simplest of alterations to existing matter.

When he is done, Alim bows to the other Tranquil. "Thank you all for letting me use the facilities."

They nod, elves, and humans, and turn to him with monotone voices. "Come back when you can, Alim."

Alim nods and leaves the tent, striking back out into the main camp, He walks off, again moving with the brisque pace up the sloping steps and into the medical pavilion.

"Oiy, you there, elf!"

Alim stop and turns about and faces a fat man with a smith's apron. "Go and tell the commander his sword will be-"

Alim steps forward and lifts greatsword, swinging it down to touch the nose of the blacksmith. "I would watch your words, shemlen," he says jutting the blade closer to the man's face. His upward vantage giving him the perfect view to look down on the portly human. "I am a Grey Warden, not one of your servants."

The blacksmith holds his hands up in surrender. "I'm sorry, I...I didn't mean to offend you, it's just, there are so many elves running about, it's hard to distinguish my own from all the rest."

The Tranquil raises an eye brow. "Your own?"

The blacksmith sweats. "My own, you know, I have an assistant, he's about here somewhere, delivering messages, Pick is his name."

Alim stares at the blacksmith. "Well I am not him, and you would do well to make note of that, and treat your assistants with more respect."

The blacksmith nods hastily. "Yes, sir."

The Tranquil sheathes his sword, and moves back up the slope to the pavilion. Cots, hundred of them, attending priests and Mages moving about trying to heal the wounded. Black patchy splotches of skin mark many of the fallen soldiers, their groaning is buttressed by the cries of pain. "This will only take a minute." Wynne's voice amidst the cries.

Alim walks about, staring down at the writhing bodies. "Please, you've got to warn them." A man's deranged cries as he thrashes on his cot.

"Hold him still, we need to treat his wound."

"They're coming! They're coming and there's nothing we can do!"

Alim watches the man's frantic cries, as he turns to the elf and reaches out with his fingers.

"You, warn them! I survived the attack, they're coming, all of them, we have to run!" The black splotches on his face mark where the Taint has infiltrated his system. A Mage grips him by the shoulders.

"Hold him down!"

The man continues to thrash. "They're coming! The Darkspawn are coming!"

Across the cotts, a priestess sits by a wounded soldier, this one calmer than the other. "Try not to move, Abner. You'll upset your injuries more."

"It burns, Sister." The man scratches at the bandages across his chest.

"I know it does. But we have few healers to spare, the ointment should take care of the wound, you just need to not upset it." The priestess puts a hand on the man's hand and tries to soothe his pain.

"Perhaps I may be of assistance, Sister," Alim says, walking up to the fallen soldier. The elf kneels at his side and lifts up the bandages, despite the hisses of the Soldier. He places a rune on the man's chest, at the deepest point of the wound. He runs his fingers on the markings, which glow with a soft blue light, enveloping the Soldier in the glow.

As the light fades, Abner lets out a contented sigh. "Ooooh." He looks up at the elf and says "Thank you, ser Mage."

"It is no trouble." Alim stands and walks away from the pair.

"For all the danger magic poses to us, I am glad for our healers, Sister."

The Sister leans in and whispers to her Soldier. "That is no, Mage, Abner. That is a Tranquil."

"Oh?" The Soldier follows Alim, who is now standing behind the small congregation of another preaching Sister.

The Priestess nods. "He has been stripped of his Magic, and of the danger he poses to his fellow man." She stands, and puts a hand to her heart and smiles. "Given a second chance at life, without the curse of demons following him for the rest of his time on Thedas."

The Soldier nods. "Given new purpose to serve those around him. One could hardly ask for more."

The Tranquil turns around slowly, like a clockwork machine, and looks into the eyes of The Priestess and The Soldier. "I can hear you both perfectly fine. You need not speak of me in the third person." His eyes, the tiny pin pricks of pupils in the bright sunlight.

The two humans blink at the elf.

Alim stares.

The two avert their eyes, and continue to act the part of a wounded soldier and his doting chaste caregiver.

Alim moves on out of the medical pavilion and now down the steps past a tent of painted warriors, one man ordering an elf.

"Tell Teryn Loghain our party is ready to scout the wilds." The painted man shouts.

"Yes, sir." The elf runs off. Alim looks at the party of warriors, their brown painted leather armor and heavy axes denoting them as Chasind Barbarians. Curiosity and his rules demand he walk over and so he does, until one of the barbarian's, not one of the ones that shouted at the elf, grabs his arm. "Oiy!"

It's a lithe hand that grips around his wrist, but pulls back fiercely, nearly pulling the elf's arm out of socket. "Come'ere knife-ear."

Alim falls back onto the ground, landing hard on the greatsword strapped to his back, and stares up at the rough, red face of a Chasind woman.

"Aren't you just a convenient little morsel." She leers down at the elf.

"I'm not a morsel, I'm a Grey Warden and I'm not interested in becoming a morsel for you." Alim pushes himself up with his hands.

The Chasind woman grins at that, shoves the elf against a tree, and grips him by the collar. "Well I've heard tales about Grey Warden endurance, and I'd like to see them proven." She leans into forcefully kiss the elf, mashing her face against his.

For a time, Alim cannot breathe, an odd sense of panic overwhelming him, as he struggles in vain to dislodge the larger woman from him. His Rules overtly stating emblazoned in his mind that any action allowing this Chasind to use him was unacceptable. Not in a sense of valuing his self or his body, but out of the knowledge that the Rules were so bright in his memory.

The Chasind Woman opens her eyes, to look into the ones o the elf she is dominating and sees the empty pools for the first time. The elf's face is a blank mask, his pointed nose a jutting dagger underneath the mop of unkempt hair surrounding his head, but the eyes held nothing. She lets go of Alim, and peers at him.

Alim stays next to the tree, as if now bound to it.

"What are you?"

"I am Tranquil."

"Your one of them Circle mages aren'tcha?"

"I was."

"Why do you looks so...funny? Don't you smile, is life being a Mage so bad?" She peers down at him. "Or is it 'cause your an elf?"

"I am not a Mage!" The Tranquil shouts and gets up and walks to the woman, who steps back as the elf advances. "I am Tranquil. I am no longer a Mage." The elf points to the mark on his forehead. "This brand removed my powers and my emotions." The elf stops. The other Chasind are watching now, so are the regional soldiers.

The camp is alive. An elf is confronting a woman, a Chasind woman, but a woman none the less. The Soldiers around camp watch, and silently take bets on the outcome.

The Chasind woman perceives the stares, glancing around, and at her Chieftan. His face, masked by a large black goatee, is set in frown and is shaking his head at her from afar. She turns back to Alim.

The Tranquil is keeping his distance.

She squints at him. "You do not feel anger?"

"I know the memory of it's burn and the exhaustion that came with it."

"No fear?"

"A knowledge that I will never flee from cowardice, but I shall neither shall I ever be brave." She inclines her head.

"No desire?" The elf looks down.

"An understanding, that my body is separate, and functional from my feelings and that if ordered, I would have no choice but to comply with the desires of others."

"If ordered...like how I almost did?" She looks down at the ground.

"Yes."

She stares at Alim. "You got everyones attention just to prevent me from ordering you to fuck me?"

The elf nods. "Yes."

The sound of her pulling out her longsword and dagger from her belt and stepping back made Alim's hand twitch to his sword out of reflex. "Well too bad, Tranquil, I order you to fight me. If I win, I will order you to bed me tonight, and if you win, you get to go your separate way." Alim pulls out his greatsword. "You would let me go if I won? Knowing you still have the power to order me?" He steps back away from the Chasind Woman.

The Chasind Woman slides back on her studded leather armor, stretching her arms out with brief swings. "If I lose to you, at this point, it doesn't matter if I order you, I won't have earned it." She turns to the Tranquil and grins ferally. "There is no enjoyment in the kill if you do not earn it, elf."

Alim tilts his head, and swings his greatsword in a simple wide arc to test his own arms. "You will come back from you hunt empty handed then, my lady." The elf bows.

The Chasind Woman grins. "I think not, Warden."

From all sides of the camp, the spectatators gather. The word travels fast. "A Chasind woman's fightin' an elf!" In droves, like cattle they herd around the two, circling the fighters as they circle each other.

Alim stands poised, his greatsword in front, standing upright, feet pointed forward, sliding to the side.

The Chasind Woman, now swaying back and forth on her knees, and rolling her feet, is looking into the Tranquil's eyes to find any signs of the lapses of form that would denote the opportune moment to strike.

"If I may?" The Tranquil asks.

The Chasind woman looks up at Alim.

"What is the name of my opponent?" The elf asks, pulling his greatsword down to his hip and using the blade as a guard over his body.

"Barta," The Chasind Woman says.

"Alim," returns the Tranquil.

And with that they are both at each other. Charging across the circle, the cries and jeers of the men standing outside, the two meet at the center.

Barta swings down with her longsword.

Alim blocks up with his greatsword.

The Chasind Woman brings her dagger about right behind her deflected longsword and cuts sharply into Alim's robes at the center, only to find that the golden fiber does not tug or budge. Barta looks up at Alim and blinks.

The elf head butts her, holding his greatsword in one hand and gripping her dagger arm for leverage, the elf head butts her.

Barta stumbles back, holding her forehead. The sounds of the crowd are getting restless, while they want a good fight, they don't want the elf to win, unless of course one of them should go in and rescue the 'defenseless savage woman.' In the cacophcony of noise and dilluted voices, Barta feels her restraints and civility slowly eb away.

Alim stops.

Barta isn't moving, instead the Barbarian woman is holding her head at the hilts of her dagger and longsword, her breathing becoming ragged and her body spasms. Growl escapes her throat, and Barta removes her hands from her head, showing her eyes to the Tranquil, and the glowing red aura surrounding her body.

"Oh dear," The Tranquil says. "You're a Berserker."

Not bothering to answer, and perhaps not capable at this point of speaking, Barta lets out of blood curdling roar. "Ughaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!" And charges the elf again. This time, Alim finds that the Chasind Barbarian is not so easy to parry. Her blows are fast, like lightning, the longsword and dagger moving in tandem with each attack, and what Alim does manage to block sends reverberations through his greatsword. Moving around the circle of people to avoid her blade, unfortunate mercenary in scale armor had the misfortune to stand behind Alim as the elf moved to the side and Bartas dagger pierced clean through the metal. Not stopping, Barta pulls the dagger out of the now fatally wounded soldier, and follows after the Tranquil.

Alim knows he cannot keep this up. Only three years of physical labor to account for his sword technique, this Chasind Woman had been training her entire life and built on traditions of violence and power which embolden her actions as she sees the elf retreat more and more, unable to swing his greatsword with the sheer momentum that Barta carries herself with. It might be considered cheating, and it might be a waste of a good Rune, his best Rune, but Alim would not have wanted to be ordered to sleep with anyone, and so, in accordance with his Rules, places with the Rune on his chest, and traces the mark on it.

The Rune glows a bright yellow light.

Barta, still enveloped by her Rage lunges at the Tranquil, going for a double strike with both her dagger and longsword, ready to pierce the elf where he stands. Only to find a moment later that Alim is not there. Almost enough to bring her out of her Rage, the sudden disappearance of the elf, and the rush of air pressure that fills the space where he once stood is enough to make the Barbarian pause, but only for a moment. The faces of the many gathered around them are staring pointedly behind her.

"Excuse me, maddam."

Barta turns around.

Alim is holding his greatsword bouncing it in his right hand, standing like a rag doll held up by so many strings, and a golden light surrounding him. The mop of brown hair turns to Barta and smiles. "Well...my dear...shall we...go again?" His speech is broken by the undulations of energy around him. The red aura around Barta brightens as the Barbarian woman bears her teeth at the Tranquil. "Oh I'm going to enjoy the things I'm gonna do to you, Tranquil."

The elf bows his head, an almost manic looks behind his eyes. "Oh, but you must catch me first, madam." And like that the elf is a blur of movement, rushing at the Chasind Woman, swinging his massive greatsword with the Haste provided by the Rune he'd used.

Like a storm of blades, a shrieking symphony of metal, Alim's greatsword and Barta's dagger and longsword trade leads and rythms. They move back and forth through the ring, a yellow and red duet, dancing across the once tiny circle, which has now enlarged to give the combatants a distance.

Alim bringing his greatsword down heavy while Barta blocks by pincering her two weapons at the hilt, and running at the elf, flinging his greatsword back.

The Chasind Woman does not let the opportunity slip by, she runs forward with her blades at the elf.

Alim slides back with his greatsword, dodging Barta's Flurry: left to the greatsword, right to the dagger, and backing away from the longsword. He rears his greatsword back, and slams the pommel into Barta's face at the forehead.

The Chasind Woman goes down onto her back and in a moment the red aura that enveloped her fades into the air. She does not get up.

The crowd is silent, save for a minor rumbling in the background. "Is that it?" A single disenter asks.

Alim's Haste wears off, and he suddenly realizes that the after affects and penalties of the Rune, unlike the spell, would come after it wore off. The elf stumbles and lets his greatsword hit the ground on point, panting heavy breaths, as though his chest will collapse. He looks around at the humans surrounding him, and now converging on the elf. This will not end well. He readies his greatsword, barely holding up the blade, until a shout stops the advancing crowd.

"What's going on here?!" A familliar sound, heavy metal joints and boots clanking around arouses Alim's eyes. In the open sun, in the cold humid air stood a man in silver armor with long black hair and a massive bent beak of a nose. "What is this? Did someone arrange a betting ring out of boredom?" The man steps forward into the center of the ring. "Are the Darkspawn not enough for you people that you must fight each other for sport?" He shouts, looking around at the gawking and soldiers.

The men are still, they do not dare speak for they know who this man is.

Alim does not. "The Chasind Woman advanced on me. I defended myself in the ring as form of honorable combat to settle the matter."

The man in silver armor squints at the elf. "Honorable combat? You call this blood pit honorable? There's a man dead over there." The silver knight points at the unfortunate victim of Barta's Rage. "And you have potentially critically wounded one of my Ash Warrior legions top lieutenants." The silver knight looks beyond Alim to the woman on the ground and then to the Ash Warrior Chieftan standing outside the circle.

Barta is climbing up, her face is cracked at the base of the nose and a fresh line of blood falling down her face. "I need...a healer."

From the crowd a shout calls out, "Healer, we need a Mage here, now!"

Alim moves away from the silver knight.

He tries to grab the elf, but his gauntlet does not reach and the Tranquil walks on next to Barta. The Chasind Woman holds up her dagger with a feeble hand, and her longsword lies on the ground.

Alim pushes the blade to the side and pulls out a rune from his robe. "Hold still." He places it on Barta's wound.

The Chasind Woman flinches at the applied cold stone and the light pressure Alim's finger makes as he traces on the rock. As the blue light envelops her she feels the crack in her skull mend and the blood which had covered her face, dries up, and the apparent nausea fades. Barta rights herself and stands her full height, a head and a half taller than Alim. She looks down at the elf, blinking with confusion.

Alim stares up at her. "You are welcome." The Tranquil walks away, back to the silver knight, who is now right behind him.

The silver knight glowers down at the elf.

Alim stares back.

From the crowd another rustling is heard, more clanking armor, and a golden aura pierces the veil of men. "Ho there! What's all this business about?"

The silver knight turns. "Cailan, just a minor troup altercation, nothing that won't be summarily punished," the silver knight says glancing back at Alim. "A misunderstanding apparently between this Ash Warrior and this elf."

From behind The King of Feraldan comes Duncan's voice. "Alim!" The Warden Commander breaks through the crowd and to the elf's side.

The silver knight raises an eye brow. "One of yours, Grey Warden?"

Duncan turns about. "Yes, Teryn Loghain, one of mine." Duncan frowns down at the elf. "Why were you fighting this woman, Alim?"

"Apparently, our little friend here did not appreciate the advances of this Chasind Warrior and the two fought it out here. While she was critically wounded, this elf has taken care of that problem." The silver knight turns to the crowd and shouts. "Mulak, this one is one of your own, is she not?"

The bearded Ash Warrior Leader turns to the silver knight. "Aye, that she is Teryn."

"While I respect your legions, I cannot have any soldiers under our army engaging in frivolous violence while waiting for the Darkspawn." The silver knight steps forward toward Alim and Barta.

The King of Fereldan is quick to get involved. He steps up to Loghain and puts a hand forward. "Loghain there's no need for such actions. If both parties are willing to separate on equal terms I see no reason that punishment in necessary." Cailan turns to Duncan and frowns. "On the other hand, Duncan we cannot have your Warden's starting fights with the other soldiers on camp." Duncan nods. "Rest assured, your majesty, I will instruct Alim on the nature of our alliances and the necessity for cooperation with our allies."

The King smiles. "You see Loghain, no need for formal punishment. I'm sure Mulak also agrees?" Cailan turns to the Ash Warrior Chieftan.

Mulak nods and bows. "If the King deems that no punishment be necessary, I will follow his will."

"It's settled then." Cailan walks up to Alim and Barta, at first looking down on the two fighters, then he smiles and says, "I think you two understand, we can't have fighting here amongst the troops."

Alim and Barta nod, like children befoer a very kind father.

Cailan smils. "Good. You hear that?" The King shouts. He turns about and faces the assembled soldiers. "We are all Feraldans, here in this land we stand united against The Blight, we cannot allow ourselves to be diverted by our differences! Instead we must focus on the common goal we all share, to protect our homeland!"

A rousing cry and huzzah rings out from the crowd, Cailans words seeming to diffuse the tension and anger from before.

The King smiles and walks over to the silver knight. "You see that, Loghain? No need for punishment, a little mercy goes a long way."

The silver knights frowns and hurrumphs. "You are far to lenient for your own good, boy." The King frowns at his father's closest friend. "And you are far too abrasive for your own." The King walks away, a troup of guards following behind him.

The silver knight turns to Alim. "As for you, Tranquil, I will not tolerate insubordination from anyone. So long as you are a Warden of Fereldan you fight for our armies, I want no more squabbles from you. If a woman advances on you and saying no means fighting her, then you damn well relent, understand?" The silver knight, who Alim now knows as Loghain Mac Tir, the Teryn of Gwaren, points down at the elf.

Alim stares, then says, "Very well, Teryn Loghain. I will make a rule of it."

The Teryn nods. "That said, not bad work. If you can take on an Ash Warrior you're certainly fit to fight the Darkspawn." He walks back into the line of the camp. The men of the circle disperse, it is now only Mulak, Barta, Duncan, and Alim.

Barta is looking at the ground.

Mulak turns to her. "Go wait with the others, despite your foolishness, you did fight well." Barta is silent. She nods, and turns to Alim. "A good fight, Alim."

The Tranquil nods. "If I were not as I am now, I would tell you I enjoyed that a great deal." The Chasind Woman nods. "I look forward to fighting you again." The Tranquil raises an eyebrow. "The Teryn forbade fighting." Barta shrugs. "We won't always be fighting Darkspawn, elf." She walks off, past her Chieftan to meet with her fellow Warriors, an odd sway to her walk that Alim, and the rest of the camp notices.

The Chieftan turns to Alim. "I must say I never expected an elf to give an Ash Warrior a challenge. The Teryn is right, you did fight well," the Chieftan says.

Alim nods. "I appreciate knowing that my skills are worthwhile to the cause."

The Chieftan frowns. "Whether they are worthwhile will be determined tomorrow."

Duncan gestures his hand for Alim to follow him. "And at that I must insist Alim that we move with haste. There is much to be done."

The Tranquil turns to the Warden Commander. "Yes, sir." Alim turns to Mulak and bows, following Duncan's direction to a large fire pit.

Standing around it are two men, one of them leaning against a pillar, cleaning his finger nails with the tip; the other is bowing his head, his eyes far off.

Duncan waves the two over.

The man on the pillar notices first and waves back. "Oiy, Duncan, did you find out what all that mess was?" He puts away his dagger.

The Warden Commander nods. "That I did indeed, Daveth. As it turns out your fellow recruit, Alim, was sparring with an Ash Warrior." Duncan turns back to the Tranquil.

Alim shrugs. "She wouldn't take no for an answer."

Duncan shakes his head. "On that point, Ser Jory, any luck finding Alistair?"

The big man shakes his head, his jowls shaking slightly in the act. "No sir. I looked for him with the other Wardens in the vanguard camp, but I found no sight of him."

Duncan sighs. "That is distressing news." He puts a finger to his chin and looks at the fire, then roves his eyes over to the elf standing next to him.

Alim looks up at The Warden Commander. "I will find him."

Duncan drops his hands. "I did not ask you to."

The Tranquil shakes his head. "You did not need to ask, I knew. I will look for him." Alim walks away from the party of men.

Duncan calls out from behind the elf. "I would check with the Templars or the Circle of Magi in camp, Alim." The Tranquil nods and walks off to the Circle camp. He knows he could ask the Templars, but he knows a source of information he'd rather talk to.

Kalek is standing beside a chest of items again, watching over it for whatever reason, likely he'd been ordered to by a Circle Mage or a Templar. The brown haired man turns to Alim and smiles. "Alim, what a pleasant surprise. How are you?"

Alim shakes his head. "Kalek, I have precious time, I need to ask, have you seen a Warden by the name of Alistair around the camp?"

Kalek looks up at the air above Alim's head and stares at the surrounding area around him. "From my recollections of memory...I saw a blonde man, called out as Alistair, by one of our Templars watching the Magi. They'd studied at the same Chantry it seems." The Tranquil man looks down at Alim. "That is all I can remember, the blonde man, your Alistair went up there, towards the War Council room." Kalek pionts at a ramp of stone leading up into an archway.

Alim nods. "Thank you, Kalek."

The brown haired man holds up a hand. "Alim, I would like to ask you a question."

The elf stops. Kalek steps forward. "I have heard some rumors in the time at camp that has passed. They say that there was an incident at the Tower."

Alim nods. "There was."

Kalek frowns at the elf. "Alim, I asked you last time if the Tower was well."

Alim nods. "And it was, Kalek."

Kalek's frown drops. "Alim, that is distressing, you should not lie about such things to one of your own kind."

Alim shakes his head at Kalek. "I did not lie, Kalek. You did not ask me if anything had happened to The Circle. When I left, it was, in fact, fine."

The brown haired man stares at his fellow Tranquil. "But you knew the intent of what I asked, you know that behind the words people say to you that there is intent behind it."

Alim stares back at Kalek. "I do not have to honor the orders issued by every person around me, Kalek."

The other Tranquil shakes his head. "It is not an order, Alim, it never was. Just a question."

Alim looks at the War Council ramp, and looks back at Kalek. "It was a question I did not need to answer."

Kalek frowns at the elf. "Then, I will ask another, Alim, did you try to destroy The Circle?" Alim looks up at Kalek, but says nothing.

The brown haired Tranquil nods. "I see. I feel no anger, Alim, for what reason would you want to hide something like that from me?"

Alim looks at the War Council room. "If I had succeeded, I would have told everyone at the camp that I destroyed The Cirlce of Magi, Kalek." He squints at his fellow Tranquil. "I did not succeed, there was nothing worth mentioning."

Kalek looks at the elf and shakes his head. "I am not incriminating you for your actions, I am just curious as to why you did not tell me."

Alim raises an eyebrow at Kalek. "Curious?"

"Yes, curious, after all," Kalek says, turning around and opening the chest he is standing next to. "We were put under the Rite for the same crime." He pulls out of the chest multiple lesser and regular health poultices, and a few runes. "I would want to give to someone, so courageous to strike back at our captors, a gift in thanks, were I not as I am now." Kalek holds out the proferred items to the elf.

Alim reaches out with his hand and takes the gift. "Thank you, Kalek."

The brown haired man smiles and bows his head. "Thank you, for never giving in. Now," The Tranquil man says, turning about. "I must get back to work." He walks deeper into the Circle encampment.

Alim stands for a moment, then he drinks one of the lesser poulitices. He feels his energy restored, the cuts across his body sewing themselves up and the lethargy that once permeated his step now gone in the wind. He pockets the other poulitices, and makes note of the Runes in his hands. Earth tier 2, Fire tier 3, Force tier 2, Arcane tier 2, and three Healing tier 1 Runes.

Alim sighs. That Haste Rune would still be with him if he had just relented to Barta's desires. Kalek values his identity and his stalwart resolve, those traits had cost him dearly today. 'I will need to learn to be more flexible in the future.' The Tranquil nods and walks up the War Council ramp.

Servants, elven servants, scurring about, setting up the meeting chamber for the King and the Teryn, one of them directing the mass flow of workers to and fro like a conductor, mumbling voices grousing at the amount of detail required to keep the room in order for the King and his many subsidaries.

Alim shakes his head and walks on. He'd fought enough for his honor as an elf, and had the pleasure of seeing where it would get him. Charity could only be done so much before ones energy and efficiency to aid others could be depleted, and then one is no help to anyone. Alim leaves the War Council room and steps up another one into an open dias room. Therein two men are bickering.

A portly mage. "You Templars never change. It's as though the Chantry had you invented so that no village idiot would be left unatended!"

A large, fit man in spintmail armor. "Oh, yes, and you mages are so impecabably intelligent, tell me, why haven't you found a way to stop from becoming abominations again?" He puts a hand to his chin and smirks at the portly mage.

The portly mage sneers at the blonde man. "Always with that drabble! I've had enough of this argument, you've managed to prove that as always, your kind never change. I will see your Revered mother, but The King will hear of this harassment, I assure you!"

The blonde man chuckles. "Oh yes, we never change, that's why I'm a Grey Warden now, free of the Chantry, and you're still sitting in a tower for the rest of your life."

The portly mage pulls out his staff and points it at the blond man, who also pulls out his sword and shield. The portly mages grimaces at the blonde man.

The blonde man stares at the mage with a blank expression, his longsword ready in his right and his shield arm twitching slightly. "All I came here to do was deliver a message, ser mage. I'm sorry you don't appreciate it, but that's what I came here to do. If you want to tell the Revered Mother you hate her guts, I'll be happy to help you with that, but I'm not in the mood for this. I have a squad of Warden Recruits to lead through a forest of impossible death and probably more grisly death today, and if I have to go through you to ge that done, I will. Warden honor and all that."

The mage grouses one more time then puts away his staff. He clenches his fists at his side and storms off muttering "Fool."

Alim watches the portly mage, who does not spare the elf a glance more than to look at his forehead, and hurries off past him.

The blonde man walks up to Alim, sheathing his longsword and shield. "You know, one thing about the Blight is how it really brings people together." The smile on his face reminds Alim of the Kings. Another mask wearer.

"Everyone does seem ready to work together for the greater good, I've never seen such ambiable comraderie." The Alim smirks at the blonde man.

"It's like a party! We can all get together hold hands, stand in a line, and sing. That would give the Darkspawn something to be frightened about."  
Alim raises an eyebrow at the man. "Your sense of irony and absurdity is...heavy."

The blonde man shakes his head. "I've been called strange and a foold quite a few times, but I don't think anyones bother to...wait was that a compliment?"

Alim stares.

"Riiiiiiight, okay. Um, what's your name if you don't mind me asking?"

The elf nods. "I apologize. I am Alim Surana, Tranquil of the Circle of Magi."

The blonde man's eyes alight. "Tranquil? Oh! You're the new Recruit Duncan mentioned! I'm sorry, I should have recognized you by his description. Wow, you really are a Tranquil, though." He stares at the mark on his forehead.

"Yes it's an amazing eye grabber, I like to use it to get the ladies all riled up." The elf smirks.

The blonde man chuckles then erupts into laughter. "Oh I'm sure that works just fine. 'Oh, Mr. Tranquil elf sir, your skin is so smooth and your body is so pretty and you have no emotions, I'd love to talk to you with your monosyllabic expressions and fantasize about you from afar!' Some thing like that?"

Alim shakes his head. "No actually, just today it was 'You, knife-ear, I'm horny and I need a pleasure toy, come here or I shall beat you into submission and take you anyway.'"

The blonde man looks on with a blank expression. "Wow, was that...did that really happen?"

Alim nods. "Yes. Just over there." He points behind him where the circle had formed.

The blonde man squints, frowns and then brightens as enlightenment dawns on him. "That commotion earlier, wow, that was you and her?"

Alim nods. "Aye, let it be said, never turn down a Chasind Woman."

The blonde man nods sagely. "Wise words, though I'm sure a few would say, never turn down a woman. In my experience, bad things happen when you do."

The elf nods. "I take it you are Alistair, then?"

Alistair nods. "That I am, and I take it Duncan sent you to find me?"

The Tranquil nods. "He did indeed."

Alistair nods. "Well, I guess I took too long with ser grumpy pants over there. Shall we get a move on?" He gestures for the elf to follow him.

Alim nods, following after the blonde man.

"So," Alistair says, turning to Alim following behind him. "What did you do to get Duncan to recruit you?"

Alim walks next to the former Templar. "I was recommened by the Knight Commander. I've trained with Templars for the last three years of my life."

Alistair nods. "Ah, I see. Do anything interesting while you were there at the Circle?"

Alim stops at the archway out of the War Council room. Duncan's fire can be seen easily in the distance. The elf turns to the former Templar and says, "Yes many things."

Alistair grins. "Do anything particularly heretical while you were there to get yourself marked?"

Alim rolls his head from side to side then looks at the Templar. "A few things.

Alistair frowns. "You're not gonna tell me, are you?"

Alim smirks, his face still holding the barest muscle to create the face on it. "Perhaps later I will tell you, but not now."

Alistar chuckles. "Fine, then, suit yourself." He walks down the ramp, the elf following him in tow.

Alim looks at Alistair. "I wouldn't worry, though."

Alistair looks up at the Tranquil, who is stepping forward, fondling the greatsword on his back with an earie smile.

Alim looks at the Templar, his eyes shut so tight that he could not possibly see where he was going, yet walks with an impeccable grace along side Alistair. "Were I not as I am now, I am sure I would like you, so in time, I think I shall tell you."

Alistar frowns down at the elf. "You know, I've met other Tranquil before."

"Oh, you have?"

The former Templar's frown deepens. "I don't think many are as expressive as you."

Alim smiles and opens his eyes.

Alistair takes note of the lack of anything behind them.

"I've been told that. I will tell you what I tell the others; Imitation isn't difficult." The Tranquil drops the smile and his focus on Alistair, then continues walking forward toward Duncan's fire.

Alistair nods, looks at the fire, at the surrounding camp, then trots up to keep pace with the elf. His eyes linger on the King's tent, and he runs his hands through his hair. "I think I know what you mean."

Alim nods. "And that is why we will be friends."

Authors Note: Woo! Chapter Two, done. I gotta tell you, putting this much detail in each chapter sometimes is a daunting task, there's a lot of stuff I have to cover and make sure is in the right place and consult the Wiki to get the names of the individual characters that I'm using for this story.

So, I think I should explain about why Alim is using a Two Hander, and this emphasis on him being more Rogue than Warrior. The reason is that I discovered in DA:O that you can backstab with Two Handed weapons. I'm not shitting you, it's amazing, the damage output and the heavy armor more than makes up for the lack of defense, also, because you don't wait talents in the Weapon Training Skills, your Rogue ends up mastering three or four other skill trees. It's pretty awesome. I've got a link here for anyone who wants to see my explanation the BSN.

forum/1/topic/66/index/16116446

I personally want to thank my reviewers: Sadarga, dominicgrim, and NIX'S WARDEN, I really appreciate that you guys took the time to give me feedback, and I'm always looking forward to more.

I appreciate also that you guys find my interpritation of the Tranquil to be so interesting, bear in mind, I'm gonna take some liberties with the lore, particularly as you may have noticed with the Runes, but I think you'll like where I go with this.

Also, sorry about that false update, I'm still having issues with formatting, but I think it has more to do with the fact that I've moved this piece from different word process to processor which has given it this very unique set of lacking indents and jumbled paragraphs. Bottom line, I had to go up and down this thing to make sure all was well. In the end as well, I think I need pre readers for this story, and I'd be happy to take some if they're willing. In the end, I'll figure something out, even if it kills me.

Edit: I'm doing a repost of both the first chapters because I found some pretty glaring errors in them that reinforce my thoughts on getting pre readers for this. I know I could reduce the size of these things but that just ain't my style, ya know?

-Konous


	3. The First Chord Is Cut

Disclaimer: Thank Bioware, and EA, for bringing Dragon Age: Origins to us as fans. This is a work in tribute to what you've given us, I completely acknowledge I do not own it.

Tranquility Chapter 3: The First Chord Is Cut

"Wolves!" Shouts Alistair, as he charges the line of fanged hounds, slashing with his longsword as he steps forward through the line of beasts.

Alim follows behind, swinging wide with his greatsword, aiming for the jaws of the animals. He leaves a bloody trail as he goes, stepping with Alistair slowly, as the two function in tandem.

Farther back from them, on the hill, Ser Jory is acting as Daveth's knight, blocking access to the archer with his body. Back to back with Ser Jory, Daveth pegs the beasts from afar with his bow.

"Oh this is lovely," Alistair says, hurling one of the hounds of his shield and slashing at three more to keep them at bay. "And here I thought all we'd have to fight was the Darkspawn." A quick Shield Bash and then a Pummel on two separate beasts to the left then right of him. "That we wouldn't get enough action taking on the hoard of Blighted creatures from the below the depths of the Earth."

Alim brings down his greatsword onto the head of a wolf, cracking open its skull. "Would you have preferred it if we had even more to deal with then?" Another to the left of him, Alistair's right, was sneaking up on the Templar just out of his field of vision. The Tranquil slides forward stabbing into the beast, ignoring its strangled whimper and cry, lifts it off the ground and hurls the still dying corpse at its fellows.

Alistair laughs, stabbing deep into the back of another animal. "Oh, sure! I could think of plenty more we could be fighting. For instance," the Templar says, smashing another wolf in the face before cutting open its jugular. "Did you know, that these wilds are partial to a breed of giant spiders that will at their best, eat their victims slowly over a long period of time, while still keeping them alive?"

"Oh? I killed a few giant spiders back at the Circle. They weren't difficult to slay." Alim side steps a wolf, getting right behind it and cutting its connection to life with ease. There are three more, ahead of Alistair.

The Grey Warden casually turns to the elf seemingly oblivious to the danger behind him. "Oh sure, but did you know that these spiders will lay their eggs in the prey they deem the healthiest?"

One of the three wolves leaps and tries to bite into the neck of the Warden, but fails to meet it as Alistair spins about, bashing the wolf into the ground, knocking him into his two conspirators. The hounds are not fast enough to get up, and Alistair takes advantage of it to stab all three as they scramble to escape. "The eggs apparently take only a few days to hatch once laid, but they spend _days_ devouring their hosts from the inside out."

The last wolf dies and The Templar turns around back to The Tranquil. "Also, the spiders down here are known to be particularly venemous, and will hide in the trees for hours. So, when I say that we could be getting more, I mean it."

Alim nods. "Yes, you do seem to be rather non-chalant about killing a pack of wolves in a swamp."

Alistair shrugs. "Eh, you'll get used to it. Once the Joining is done with you'll find it's hard to be chalant about anything anymore." The former Templar wipes his blade clean and sheathes it, walking back to the hill where Jory and Daveth are both resting. "The two of you enjoy that enlivening work out? I think I feel all freshened up, myself." He chuckles.

Daveth is wiping his daggers clean in the stream. "How can you talk about something like that while killing these creatures? It's inhuman."

At that word Alistair frowns. "Well I apologize, Daveth, not all of us feel like shouting and screaming into the night while we cut up furry creatures. I personally feel a little bit of a light hearted banter helps to distract from the truth of the situation."

Alim looks up at Alistiar and raises an eye brow. "The truth?"

Ser Jory pipes, wiping his brow and climbing to his feet. "These wolves are running from the Darkspawn, right commander Alistair?"

Alistair frowns at Ser Jory. "Yes, they're no doubt eager to get away from the horde, too busy perceiving every thing around them like a threat to know what's actually going to kill them. Oh, and Ser Jory?"

"Yes, commander, Alistair?"

"Don't call me "commander Alistair," makes me feel like I have a title of respect or something." The Warden fidgets and rubs his arms at the elbows, staring into the marsh. "Is it me or did this place get colder?"

Ser Jory nods. "It is indeed frightfully chilly."

Alim looks up at Alistair and mutters, "A nice misdirection."

"What was that, Alim?" Alistair asks.

"Nothing, commander, Alistair." The Tranquil says in monotone, staring ahead into space.

Alistair groans. "I can already see that title is going to follow me for a while." He looks about, rubbing his arms one more time. "How soon till it snows?"

Daveth walks up to the three men, sheathing his daggers and restrapping his bow. "I was raised in this area, the winter comes late, but it comes heavy and hard, and it lasts forever. What we're seeing right now is a the end of the five months of no snow before the onset of cold." The Pickpocket looks about at the trees and rubs his arms unconsciously.

"Cold as well, Daveth?" Alim asks.

"No, ser Mage, I'm not. I just remember the stories me mum would tell me to keep me from running off and abandon my duties on the farm. Didn't work, of course. I made a break for Denerim first chance I could, but that was in the opposite direction of these woods." He glances around one more time then turns to his compatriots. "Either way, we should probably get a move on, Alistair."

The former Templar nods. "You're right, Daveth. Lets get a move on, men." Perhaps already accepting the idea of being these Recruits commanding officer and liking the sound of it more than he let on.

The Korcari Wilds are reputed as many things throughout the history of Fereldan. A mire of dark magics; a denizen of bizarre and horrid creatures; the home of The Chasind and where they are said to bury the bones of their dead, once they are done feeding from them. It is a place with a power to it only enhanced by the legends that surround it.

The bog itself wants to suck Alim into the ground below, every step in the swamp sinks at least an inch into the grass. He is quite sure that the actual bog has swallowed many a hapless traveler, never mind the old pieces of ruin surrounding Ostagar, growing thick with green mold. As though the swamp is intent on devouring all inside of it. Quite the place for the Darkspawn to begin their campaign: a gaping maw of Nature.

Alim keeps pace behind Alistair, in front of Daveth, with Jory taking the rear. He keeps his eyes on the trees around the swamp. It is a place of many intersecting branches, and Alim can understand now why Alistair brought up the spiders. In fact, almost all of Fereldan as he'd seen it so far never seemed in want of trees. But the Korcari Wilds and its trees almost seem to have a vibrancy which the other dense places of plant life did not.

"I didn't realize there were places besides the Brecillian forest which were so...green."

Alistair nods, looking about, glancing up one more time. "Yeah, there are a few around Fereldan. I'm told in Highever and Amaranthine there's some decently sized forests, but I don't think anything quite reaches what I've seen here." He looks across at the trees growing out of the water and smiles, turning back to Alim. "For instance, what about _those_ trees?"

Alim looks to his left at the trees growing out of the water around the many ruins of Tevinter slowly sinking into the bog and becoming a part of the swamp. "The ones with the exposed root systems?"

"Yeah, those! Aren't they just weird looking?"

Alim inclines his head. "Because they're different?"

Alistair looks back and down at the Tranquil and shakes his head. "I didn't mean it like that, I've never seen anything like that until I became a Warden. The Chantry was so boring, and well, homogenous."

"I was told in the Circle about relationships between the Templars, but I only assumed it was The Mages griping about their position."  
Alistair stops a moment and blushes. "What? No, not like that and...wait a minute." The Templar looks back at the elf. "You're making fun of me aren't you?"

Alim nods. "Yes."

"Why?"

"It is something I would do."

Alistair blinks. "Ah, well I suppose that makes sense actually. Maker knows I've used that same logic plenty of times. But where was I?"

"Homogeny within the Chantry."

"Oh, right, yeah, actually aside from working with Mages, you're on the few elves I've had lasting conversations with."

Alim inclines his head. "The Chantry does not allow elven converts as priests?"

Alistair nods vigorously. "Oh, sure they do, but just not Templars. There was an elven brother at the temple, Boremon, he wanted to be a Templar. Kept trying to get the Revered Mother to take him on, but the Chantry is still very closed about who they let into their personal army as far as humans are concerned. Elves, that's a whole different thing. A lot of the other recruits thought he was trying to mock the Chant and took it out on him. He was still trying when Duncan recruited me at the tournament in Denerim." Alistair shakes his head. "Anyway, I'm glad to be out of there."

"There is far more to the world than the stone temples and prisons our people lock us away in," Alim says.

Alistair nods. "True that."

The sight of many broken and run down carts and a bevy of soldier's corpses stops the men mid track.

"Wait a minute." Alistair holds his hand up. He looks at the corpses and notices one moving, struggling to climb up. "Ah."

"Darkspawn?" Alim asks.

"No, but..." A second look, one of the bodies is trying to get up, albeit pitifully. "We got a survivor."

"We need to help him." Ser Jory starts to trot up and move past Alistair, but the Templar's hands stays him.

"No!" Alistair yells back at his three other companions.

Even Alim pauses, balked by his word.

"It might be a trap." The Templar squints.

Alim looks up at Alistair. "They can lay traps?"

Alistair nods. "Oh, yes. They love to lay traps. Daveth?"

Daveth looks up at Alistair. "Yes, commander?"

"Do you have any talents with trap disarment?"

The Rogue shrugs. "Well, yeah, a bit, I mean claw traps sure, but I don't see any there, and if its any bigger than that, I doubt I could help."

Alistair turns back to the man groaning amongst the corpses. "Aright then." And walks forward without any sense of caution whatsoever.

"Weren't you just telling us to be careful?" Daveth asks.

Alistair walks through the corpses. "Eh, no point in worrying about it, you can't find any traps, and I couldn't see any before I sprung it if my life depended on it. Also, I don't sense any Darksapwn, so..." He reaches the wounded man.

Daveth whispers to Jory. "I think he's mad, he is."

"You might be right about that." The Knight nods.

Alim shakes his head. "No he's just practical." The elf steps forwad through the corpses.

Daveth whispers to Jory. "I think the elf is mad, too."

Alim stops next to the groaning man with Alistiar, and calls back to the two Recruits. "No, just Tranquil."

The two men blink as Alim walks away.

The man finally manages to push himself up to look at those surrounding him. "Are you...Grey Wardens?"

"We are, what happened here?" Alistair asks.

His eyes are yellow and his skin is covered in blood. "We were...ambushed by the Darkspawn, our entire patrol was wiped out...I please, I don't..."  
For a moment Alim considers killing the man to put him out of his misery quickly and painlessly and not wasting the Rune, then the overbearing voice of his past embodied in The Rules makes it unbearable for him. "I have something that can help him." The elf puts one of the healing Runes on the man's back and traces it.

The blue light of energy envelops him and with a gasp of new life, the soldier stands. "Oh, Maker, thank you." He bows to the elf.

Alim's face is flat, flatter than his normal stares, such that if Alistair wasn't already aware of The Tranquil's dedication to his craft, he would have suspected he was angry. "You're welcome. Do you have anything to give me for it? Those Runes are expensive, you know."

The Soldier blinks and pats his pockets. "Uh, I have thirty silvers, I mean me mum gave it and..." The Soldier looks at The Tranquil.

Alim stares.

"Urrh, right, here you go." The Soldier hands the elf the money.

Alim nods, counting it. "This is sufficient, if I return to camp I should be able to pay the Formari for a few Runes with this, and perhaps some etching agents, as well."

Alistair shakes his head at the elf. "Anyway, you're fit to head back to camp, man?"  
The Soldier nods. "Yes, Grey Warden. Please be careful out there."

"We will, just don't die before you get there." Alistair smiles at him.

The Soldier seems to balk again at The Templar and walks away from the party, a bit shaken to say the least.

"An entire patrol was wiped out by Darkspawn? What are the four of us supposed to do if we meet them?"

"Calm down, Ser Jory," Alistair says. "We're in danger of meeting a few stragglers out here, but not the bulk of the horde. We should be fine, if we're careful."

The Knight does not calm. "Those men were careful, commander, and the Darkspawn still killed them!" He clenches his fists and looks at Alistair with wide eyes.

The Templar's discipline shows. "Listen, Ser Jory, as a Grey Warden I can sense the Darkspawn if they approach."

Daveth turns to Jory. "You see that, ser Knight, we might get killed, but we'll know about it first."

Ser Jory grimaces at The Pickpocket. "That is...reassuring, I suppose."

Alim turns to Alistair. "How do you sense the Darkspawn, Alistair?"

The Warden does a half smile at The Tranquil. "Warden secret, Alim. Tell you what, you'll know the vast majority once we're done here, but before that we have to find some horde members. And for that we need to find some Darkspawn to collect their blood. So to that end, follow me, gentlemen." Alistair heads off deeper into the swamp.

Alim looks at Ser Jory and Daveth, then follows behind The Templar.

Daveth looks at Ser Jory and shrugs, following behind the elf.

Ser Jory sighs. 'Why didn't I stay with Pam at Highever castle? She's probably enjoying some nice cheese right now.' He grumbles in his mind, and follows behind the Pickpocket.

()()()()()()()()()(

Crouching down on the hill over looking the Darkspawn encampment, Alistair is crushing himself as close as he can to the grass woth Alim lying next to him. "Hrm, two hurlocks, a few genlocks, I'm not sensing many of them, but I don't know if there aren't any hiding in stealth around there."

From a distance looking at the Darkspawn, Alim does not think them to be any different from a group of travellers in rusty, venemous looking, heavy armor. Perhaps a few could be misconstrued as dwarves. The short ones with dark green skin and stubby feet are about as short as the short mountain dwelling people, but over all looking at the Darkspawn standing around a campfire they seem no different than any troupe of soldiers. Eating, and if the gibberish coming from their throats is any indication, they seem to be conversing, particularly the taller ones, shifting on their feet. One of them seems to be cooking something, several chunks of meat hanging over a fire. "They seem to be milling about the camp, passing time."

Alistair shakes his head at the elf. "They don't 'pass time' unless you count making Brood Mothers. I think they're waiting for us." He motions with his head to the elf, and crawls backwards down the hill to where Daveth and Ser Jory are standing patiently.

"Well, commander?" Asks Daveth.

Alistair points to the encampment around the hill. "There's a sizeable portion of them, but we can handle it if we do this right." He points up the hill. "Daveth, I want you to take your bow, and peg one of the Darkspawn closest to us. It's a genlock separated from the main group."

Alim raises an eyebrow. "You want the bowmen to attak a nearby target?"

Alistari nods. "Yes, you'll see it in a bit, the Darkspawn have an odd functioning hive mind, the more of them in an area, the smarter they get. The farther they get from each other, the more like animals they act. If you get one that's far enough from the others it's intelligence dwindles and they become easier to kill, enough so that you can pull them from the pack if you're lucky. Doesn't mean we will be, but you know, never hurts to try."

Alim scratches his chin. "So, when they appear in these vast numbers they have sort of sentience?"

Alistair shakes his head. "No, they just become more cunning at killing. What makes them so horrible is truly how intelligent they are without the reliance on emotions or individuality to guide them."

Alim looks at the Darkspawn and squints. "No emotion?"

"Well, they experience anger, pride, desire, but I don't think I've ever seen them exhibit sloth, perhaps hunger, but as a species they represent the worst of all of us. And they certainly not sloth like about their actions towards the rest of the world." Alistair turns back to Daveth. "We'll be protecting you at the base of the hill to ambush them as they come."

Daveth nods. "Yes, commander." He climbs up the hill and notches an arrow onto his string. He looks back at Alistair and the other three. Already in position, Alim and Ser Jory on either side of The Templar waiting for his arrow. He turns back to the Darkspawn in the camp and the genlock roving about, kicking dust in the ground, as though a child looking for something to play with. Daveth shakes his head. 'That thing could never be a child,' he thinks as he lets the arrow fly.

When it sticks into the neck of the genlock, for a moment, Daveth thinks that he got it in one go. Then as though it found a fly suckling blood from its arm, the creature casually pulls the arrow out of its neck, red blood gushing out for a moment before stopping. Its head rotates slowly, and it stares hard at the archer on the hill.

From his position up top, Daveth's step falters, and he steps back staring at the inhuman thing.

The genlock smiles and screeches at the top of its lungs and pointing to the other Darkspawn. The hurlocks and other genlocks take notice and pull out their weapons, screaming for the entire bog to hear. The creatures have been waiting for this.

Alim turns to Alistair. "Well, that didn't work."

Alistair shrugs. "It's always worth a try."

The Darkspawn charge across the open grass, their heavy armor splashing in the moist grass. Daveth steels himself, and notches another arrow, pegging one of the hurlocks in the foot, wedging the creature in the muck. It leaves three of the genlocks with one hurlock to charge around the other side of the hill, where the three melee fighters are waiting for them.

As soon as the wounded genlock comes into Alim's view, the elf pulls a small bit of grass and dirt from the ground hurls it into the creature's eyes. As it scratches at its face the elf side steps around and cuts, as Duncan showed him, slicing clean through the exposed wound and down into the creatures neck. For a moment the corpse sputters on his greatsword before The Tranquil pulls it out with kick to back of the creature, knocking it into the other genlock Ser Jory is fighting.

And very good that he does, The Knight is having issue keeping up with the quick dual dagger wielding monster, his greatsword only just keeping it at bay as it trys to circle around the man. As the corpse of the first genlock falls into the back of the other, Ser Jory bashes the creature in the face with the pommel of his greatsword. He pulls back with his weapon and swings up with a Might Blow into the creatures chin.

When the genlock, the greatsword wedged into its lower jaw, grabs at the greatsword and removes it, The Knight reels back at the sight of the creature still coming at him despite the blood gushing forth from its mouth.

A quick Shield Bash from Alistair though shatters what little is left of the creature's skull. "Don't stop for anything, Ser Jory, they won't!" The Templar dashes up the hill, as one of the hurlock's makes a bee line for Daveth.

The archer is too busy sending arrows flying at the Darkspawn archers in the camp, drawing their fire from the melee combatants to notice the hurlock before it makes three Flurry stabs with its mace and dagger in his back. "Ah!" He screams, as the blade shifts somewhere into his spine and he loses sensation for a moment before falling down the hill to the ground below.

"You bastard!" Shouts the Templar, as the hurlock turns around and screeches at him. Alistair charges forward swinging first with his longsword, which the hurlock blocks with its mace.

The darkspawn tries to stab at Alistair with his knife, but The Templar bashes the blade away, knocking the creature off its balance and stabs into its neck. The blood sprays out and covers his face, but Alistair drives the blade deeper, then kicks it in the chest and it follows Daveth down into the ground below. An arrow whizzes by his head, and another. Alistair blocks with his shield. He's right about to run down the hill when the sight of Alim leaping from from the shadows of the marsh and cutting wide across the chest of the bowmen, slicing open its chest. The creature reals back from the blow, staggering to the side.

The other genlock throws away its bow and pulls out two daggers, charging the elf.

Alim steps back, holding his greatsword ready and swings down heavy on the spawn, to which the creature side steps and Dual Strikes continuously at the elf, cutting into his enchanted robes, and even stabbing the elf in the right arm.

"Alim, we're coming!" Alistair shouts, running with Ser Jory into the field.

The last hurlock manages to finally unwedge itself and charges at the two Warriors, bringing to bear its great maul at Alistair who blocks with his shield.

"Jory, you handle this one, I've got to help Alim!" The Templar rushes past the slow swings of the hurlock's maul and rushes the genlock pinning down the elf.

Alim is losing ground.

The diminutive monster is smiling as it takes its time with the elf, trying to savor a kill and get the job done as efficiently as possible.

Such conflicting logic of combat is what gives Alistair the chance to Shield Bash the creature down onto the ground and then stab it into the neck.

The genlock releases a shriek, pinned on the ground, but still not dead. It flails with its arms and tries to crawl despite the longsword stuck inside it.

Alim wastes no time and stabs once into its skull, possibly the only sure fire way to kill the creatures. "Thank you, Alistair." The Tranquil removes his greatsword with a wet squelch.

The Templar shakes his head. "No need to thank me, just doing my job," he says, turning around to see Ser Jory's face meet the hurlock's maul, and the distinct wet sound of a caving skull fills the marsh air.

The last Darkspawn hurlock turns to Alim and Alistair, its greatmaul held behind it as it stamps the ground in front of it.

Alim turns to Alistair. "Do you want this one or should I?"

Alistair looks down at the Tranquil and puts away his longsword and shield, then holds out his right hand. "I'll play you rock, paper, scissors to see who gets to kill it."  
Alim raises an eye brow. "Even before my Tranquility, I was a master of that game, you will lose."

Alistair frowns. "What? That's no fun, you won't even try to play me?"

Alim shrugs. "It's a simple game, too few possibilities. I thought once of adding some, but no one else could keep up with the different variations."  
The sound of the hurlock's stamping feet removes them from their game. The hurlock is gnashing its teeth at them, waving its maul up and down in the air, screaming at the top of its lungs.

Alistair tilts his head and points at the hurlock. "Ya know, I think he's getting impatient with us."

Alim turns to the Templar. "Then...would you like to share him?"

Alistair turns to the Tranquil, gives him a dumbfounded squint, then smiles. "Ya know, I think I'm starting to see how your mind works, and I gotta say, I like it." He gestures to the elf. "Shall we?"

Alim nods. "We shall."

They rush the hurlock at full tilt, Alistair unsheathing his weapons and blocking just in time with his shield as the hurlock brings down his greatmaul.

Alim, ready to end it quick, gets in formation behind the hurlock and attempts a cut, only to have the greatmaul that Alistair blocked hit him in the shoulder with the heavyily dimpled surface of the hammer, causing the elf to drop his greatsword.

A quick slice from Alistair across the chest barely registers in the creature's mind and it brings the greatmaul back about to hit the Templar in the sword arm.

To his credit, Alistair doesn't drop his weapon, having been trained to sustain such blows, and Shield Bashes the hurlock to the ground.

As it falls the ground, the hurlock lets out a gutteral scream as Alim brings his greatsword up and down on its neck and severs the head of the creature from its body, and it gushes red out from its veins. Alim lets out a breath and drops his greatsword to clutch his arm.

Alistair walks up to the elf. "You alright?" He drinks a healing potion. The feeling in his arm returns slowly.

Alim nods. "I'm fine. We need to attend to the others, we've had enough fun for now." The Tranquil walks over to where Ser Jory's body lies motionless on the ground, his face etched still in surprise from the blow the greatmaul gave him. His eyes are still moving. Alim places a healing Rune on The Knight's skull and releases it. The blue light works its magic, and Jory's skull expands and realigns itself back into place and the sound of his soft brain matter expanding back into proper size.

Alistair looks down. "Well he's not dead yet, either."

Ser Jory coughs as consciousness returns to him. He pushes himself up, and stands, wobbling to the side before he catches his balance.

"Easy, Ser Knight," Aslitair says.

The Knight breaths heavy as Alim walks past him. "I thought I was dead for sure."

Alistair shrugs. "Well we're just lucky our little friend here has those Runes of his, aren't we?"

"Not anymore," The elf calls back to The Templar, as he traces a Rune onto Daveth's body.

The Rogue is engulfed in a blue light and he stands up, much as Ser Jory, grabbing the side of his head. He picks up his bow from the ground and looks at the elf "Thank you."

Alim nods and motions for the man to follow him. "Those were the last of my healing Runes."

Ser Jory shake his head. "That's not good, I think that means we should go back for more of those stones. I don't think we'd be alive right now if not for master Alim's healing."

Daveth nods. "We do have plenty of Darkspawn blood to fill out vials, commander."

Alistair shakes his head. "No, we need to get the treaties. Fill up your vials with blood, we'll just have to be more careful in the future. Alim?"

The elf looks up. "Yes, commander?"

"Do you have any healing potions?"

Alim nods. "I do." Without order, the Tranquil moves to his fellows and hands them two lesser healing poulitices and a single healing poulitice each.

Alistair nods. "That'll have to do. Grab your Darkspawn blood, men, then we move out. I'll guard the perimiter while you take of it."

The three Recruits pull out their vials, each slitting the throat or the artery of a Darkspawn and careful not to touch its blood as they do so.

Daveth turns to Ser Jory. "You notice how non-chalant he is about all this? Like us dying wouldn't be something he didn't expect?"

Ser Jory grumbles.

Daveth shakes his head. "It's like the Grey Wardens don't expect anyone to survive their Conscriptions. What do you think it means?"

Alim turns to Daveth. "It means that if we're going to live long enough to survive our Conscriptions out time is best spent not wasted bickering and muttering about the arduousness of the process itself, Daveth." The Tranquil caps his vial and walks away from the Darkspawn corpse he drew it from.

Daveth looks up at the elf, and for a moment wants to say something, then a glance at Ser Jory, and the solemn glare the man is giving him stops the Pickpocket, and he resumes filling his vial in silence.

()()()()()()()()()()()

"It is a fine, blade I suppose," Ser Jory admits to Alim, as the elf swings around their discovered treasure.

"Fine would be a misnomer, Ser Knight, this blade is excellent," Alim says, giving the Chasind Flatblade several swings. The weapon is nimble, almost like a needle of greatswords, the point and edge exceptionally sharp, despite having been locked away for so long. "I will keep this."

Alistair frowns at Alim. "But you've already got your other greatsword right now."

Daveth chuckles. "Maybe Alim intends on dual wielding them?"

Alim stares at the Pickpocket.

Daveth sweats under the Tranquils cold glaze and chuckles lightly.

Alim puts a finger to his chin. "It might be possible, but I will have to devise a means for it when I have more enchanting materials."

Daveth raises an eye brow. "I was joking, you know, Alim."

Alim nods. "I'm aware, that does not mean the idea has no merit. Dual wielding two handed weapons would be quite a feat, and something I'd like to endeavor maknig feasible. Tranquil if anything have free time to make new inventions and conveniences." He pulls out his Templar greatsword and sets it on the ground parallel the Chasind Flatblade.

"Decision time, eh?" Alistair looks down at the swords with Alim.

"Yes, a bit more difficult than I would have expected. My Templar sword has benefits against Fade Spirits and Magi, but this Flatblade is of clear superior make."  
Ser Jory looks at the two weapons. "Personally, I'd take the Flatblade, master Alim. I doubt we'll run into many Fade Spirits in these woods."

Daveth chuckles again. "It's two bad you can't combine them into one really good sword, you know?"

As soon as Daveth finishes his words, Alim looks up at the Pickpocket. "I think I might do just that, Daveth." He kneels in front of the two weapons and holds his hands above them, each resting right above the blades.

At first, nothing, then both blades are bathed in an ethereal blue light, as the stored lyrium and mana in them awakens to the touch of The Tranquil. The light coalesces, as though the spirits of the two blades were merging at the center of Alim's hands. The energy swirls for a moment, like a vortex and then when the maelstrom of lyrium reaches its terminal velocity, it comes together as a single light that flows into the Chasind Flatblade. The glow on the tribal weapon fades, and Alim stands up with his new weapon.

Alim swings it once, then twice. "Good, the magics transferred perfectly." He sheathes the Flatblade.

Alistair blinks at the Tranquil. "That's new. So you can move enchantements between items?"

Alim shrugs. "Only like items, ones of typically the same material or quality work best. That alone was dangerous enough. I could have destroyed both weapons in the process." He bends down and picks up his old greatsword, looking at it with what one might have suspected was affection or perhaps nostalgia. "It's not easy removing lyrium from a material once its already been inlaid into it." He pulls out a hand bag from his pocket.

Alistair raises an eyebrow. "What are you gonna do, put the greatsword in that bag?"

Alim does just that. The greatsword slides into the hand bag and dissappears from sight. The Tranquil ties the bag to his waist and looks up at his fellows. "Shall we continue?"

The Three men look on as the elf walks past them, each taking glances at each other, then back at the elf.

Daveth points at Ser Jory's greatsword with wide eyes, then points to a little coin purse at his side, his face is a mix of horror and awe.

Ser Jory's face is dumbfoundedly blank, and he shakes his head, staring at the elf as he walks away. "Just don't ask. I'm sure he has some explanation about how lyrium or magic functions that's beyond our understanding. Let's just accept the fact that our little companion might be the only one of us fit to be a Grey Warden, besides the commander, and move on. I've had about all I can take in this swamp."

Daveth nods, his eyes never leaving Alim.

Alistair frowns and trots up behind Alim, who is already making his way across the dead bodies of wolves they had to fight to reach the Flatblade's chest. "Dare I ask, how you did that?"

Alim shrugs, turning around to face The Templar. "A simple space distortion enchantment. It makes lugging around numerous heavy objects that much easier."

Alistair raises an eye brow. "And what, you have just an infinite amount of things you can hide in that bag?"

Alim shakes his head. "Not infinite, just a much larger amount of space inside than out." He pulls out the bag and shows Alistair. "This holds about a wagon's load of items."

Alistair raises an eyebrow. "I take it it's not easy to make something like that, then?"

Alim shakes his head. "No actually, it's incredibly easy, almost jarringly so, in terms of much lyrium is actually required, or the amount of space I can store inside of one."

Daveth and Ser Jory take this time to move across the bog and catch up with their fellows.

Alistair puts a hand to his chin. "I take it then that this is one of those things the Chantry doesn't want the world to know exists?"

Alim shrugs his shoulders. "I'm not certain. Perhaps, I've entertained the idea, but I have no justification for why they would do it. Were I not as I am now, I would say that they prevent it because it would improve the lives of the many, and would prefer to squander it to retain their power."

Alistair shrugs. "Well, I wouldn't put it past them, in all honesty."

Alim glances at Alistair and squints. "Are you not a Templar?"

Alistair grins at Alim. "Aye, that I was."

"Do you not follow and value everything the Chantry tells you?"

Alistair shrugs again. "What can I say, I may have been one, but I was never a very good one. Swallowing that whole ' all Mages were monsters fit to be destroyed' idea, no matter how frightening the prospect of becoming a toad was, never sat well with me."

For a moment, Alim says nothing, then the line of his mouth widens into something you could construe for a smirk, a smile, or a grin, but never quite completing any of these expressions. "I knew there was a reason we would become friends."

Alistair chuckles. "Oh we'll have plenty of time to discuss The Chantry's many, many foibles. For now, Recruits, lets get this show on the road." And steps out of the boggy wood and heads deeper into the marsh. "As I recall, the Warden compound is this way."

Alim nods and follows behind with Daveth and Ser Jory quietly taking up the rear once again.

()()()()()()()(

"So," Alistair says clapping his hands at the Recruits. "Who wants to help me kill an Emissary."

Alim raises his hand, Ser Jory and Daveth shake their heads ferverently.

Alistair rolls his eyes. "Oh, come on, you guys, it'll be fun, I promise! We can take turns being zapped, burned alive, and having our organs ripped out."

Ser Jory shakes his head. "Your ability to inspire confidence, commander is overwhelming."

Alistair frowns at The Knight. "Being a Grey Warden is about facing the realities of our world head on, Ser Jory. We do what must be done, because it must. If we're to get to the treaties in the compound," Alistair points to the decrepit building in the distance. "Then we need to get passed this Emissary, and likely whatever hoard of friends he has behind him, ready to come to his aid."

Daveth pulls out his bow. "You want me to try to pick him off from a distance? See if we can get him to come to us, again?"

Alistair shakes his head. "No, that works on stragglers, but not on Emissaries. They have far too much intelligence, compared to the average Darkspawn for that to work. No, we need to take him down hard and fast."

Alim snickers.

Daveth and Ser Jory look down at the elf.

Alim shrugs. "I would have laughed."

Alistair shakes his head. "Anyway, yes, Daveth, use your bow and see if you can pin him at the bridge. Ser Jory, you and I will charge him front and center."

Alim looks back and forth between Ser Jory and Daveth, then back to Alistair. "And I would be?"

Alistair raises an eyebrow. "Well, I was gonna ask if you wanted to charge the bridge with Ser Jory and I, but I think you might already have an idea in that little head of yours."

Alim nods. He points to the swamp which the bridge hangs above. "I have training in stealth, I will swim the bog and sneak attack the Emissary by climbing onto the bridge. When I hit him, Daveth can unleash his arrow, he'll be sufficiently distracted, you and Jory can then charge."

Alistair looks at the bog, then back at the elf and raises an eyebrow. "You remember what I said about those Spiders, right?"

Alim nods. "I do."

Alistair smiles. "They say the bog has even more frightening things dwelling underneath its waters."

Alim stares. "I am not afraid."

Alistair nods. "I figured you might say that. Alright, lets do it then."

Alim nods and walks into the bog. He tests the waters with his Flatblade to make certain nothing is dwelling underneath, then steps full into the peety water.

Daveth shakes his head as the elf disappears into the bog, his mop of brown hair the only thing floating in sight, save for his eyes, which stare at his comrades.

Alim raises a thumbs up to his fellow Recruits and then starts swimming to the Emissary on the bridge.

The bog underneath him is shallow for a human, but as an elf he barely steps along the floor of it. The mossy undergrowth would have disquieted any normal man, but a Tranquil feels no disgust. When the vines of gunky green seem to wrap themselves about him, Alim does not thrash, but instead removes the moss, and steps around it. Nothing would stop him from his appointed task.

The Emissary is staring ahead. Evidently the Darkspawn never considered that their enemy might use the bog to their advantage, banking on human dependence of land. As he slides into position next to the bridge, he turns back to where Alistair, Jory, and Daveth are standing.

The three men nod at a distance. Daveth has his bow ready, Alistair and Ser Jory already have their weapons drawn as well. Now it is up to Alim to spring the trap.

Grabbing the sides of the bridge, and slowly drawing himself up, the Tranquil emerges from the bog, covered now in the brown spores, and marsh green, like a construct of the swamp. He stares down his target from behind, the other Darkspawn not yet alerted to his presence. He climbs atop the bridge rails, and for a moment sits, then pulls out his Chasind Flatblade, and points it at the neck of the Emissary.

As though sensing the intent or the non-presence behind him, or perhaps just hearing the tiny drops of water from Alim's robe, the Emissary turns around right as Alim swings, and gets a chest full of greatsword backstab. "UrrrrraaaahHHHH!" It screams, alerting its fellows to the intruders in their midst. As it does, an arrow lodges itself in the foot of the creature, and for a moment it struggles to remove itself, then lets out a triumphant shriek as it pulls its leg free from the arrow..

Once Daveth released his arrow, Alistiar and Jory charge screaming at the top of their lungs, both to rally themselves and draw attention away from Alim, who is now fighting the Emissary in melee with a genlock that had hidden itself in the bog on the otherside of the bridge.

From the opposing land, the roars of two hurlocks charging in to defend their Emissary meet Alim's ears.

The Emissary heals itself, the wide gash Alim had cut, mending itself like strings on a doll. The darkspawn leers down at the elf and laughs.

Alim is not amused. He hears the incoming footsteps of the two hurlocks. He sheathes his Flatblade, and draws two runes, tracing them. "These are expensive, you know." He throws down the Force rune and the Fire Rune, and shoves past the Emissary and the genlock, leaving the four Darkspawn on the bridge.

The four beasts blink and stare at the glowing lyrium rocks, and the twin designs of erupting magic contained within.

Two explosions. One a blast of psychic energy stunt the creatures, followed by a brilliant explosion of fire that sends the Darkspawn and debris from the bridge in every direction. One of the hurlock's lands with its head in the claw trap; still burning struggling to unlatch its head from the metal incissors. The other is lucky enough to land on the moist bank of the bog, snuffing out the flame soon after, but still incurring the damage of a full fireball at point blank range. The genlock and the Emissary still reside on the bridge. The Emissary stands, and pulls out its staff to heal itself when-

The cut of Alim's Fullblade across it's skull pushes the creature back down. Another downward slice and another and another another another. Alim says nothing as he cuts and hacks, his face is blank, his pupils pin pricks. The Tranquil makes certain the Emissary will not heal itself again.

The genlock stands, picking up its two daggers, to pounce the elf, but a butting shield from Alistair knocks the short monster down again, the flames now charring its skin. "Ser, Jory, Daveth, take care of those hurlocks!"

"Yes, commander!" Ser Jory yells, running at the burning hurlock in the claw trap, which had excised itself from the device, and brings down his greatsword on the beast.

The hurlock counters with the heavy shield in its arm, pushing itself up with its right and, and using the momentum to swing its mace at the head of Ser Jory.

"Oh, not that again!" Yells the Knight. He backs away in time from the blow, and swings cutting the hurlock in the mace hand.

"Urrraaah!" It screams and clutches the hand to its body, bringing the shield up to guard itself.

Ser Jory cuts low at the knees, bringing the creature down again, as it thuds heavyily on the bridge.

The second hurlock gets up, finally climbing out of the bog, after slipping on the wet sand so many times, and back onto the bridge to charge Ser Jory, only to be pegged by an arrow from Daveth that sticks in the creatures chest until the darkspawn pulls it out with a defiant roar.

"They just won't go down!" Screams Daveth, knotching arrow after arrow into his bow and letting them fly into the offending creature.

Alim looks up from the corpse of his Emissary and rushes Daveth's spawn with full intent of destroying it. A loose arrow from behind a crudely constructed barrier, plants itself in the Tranquil's collar, cutting a major artery.

"Alim!" The Templar shouts, making the final cut into his genlock, splitting open its neck. He rushes the elf with his Health Poulitice, pulling out the arrow from the neck of the Tranquil, choking on his own blood. The red liquid has an instant effect, the pulsating wound seems to stop and the gushing liquid flows back into the elfs body, in a reversal of time, the wound closing as the open skin moves back into place, and Alim's breathing returns to normal.

The Tranquil looks up at the Templar. "Thank you, Alistair." He climbs up, an arrow sailing past him. He pulls out his Flatblade.

Alistair chuckles, patting the elf on the shoulder. "I got this one mate, you help Ser Jory." Alistair rushes down the line, past Ser Jory and his two current assailants, dodging the mace wielder's immediate swing, and running to the genlock rogue hiding behind the barrier. The creature lets loose its last arrow. Alistair blocks the arrow with his shield, and pulls out his longsword as he creeps closer to the defenseless creature.

The Darkspawn crouches against the barrier, scrambling to get away from The Templar. "Oh, I'm sorry," Alistair leers down at the genlock and chuckles. "Did you order cake? I'm terribly sorry, we're all out."

The screams of the genlock reach Alim's ears as he strolls up to Ser Jory, who is now on the defensive with the two remaining hurlocks. He brings his Flatblade to bear onto the the hurlock with the mace and dagger, while Ser Jory cuts the last life from the shield and mace wielder.

Alim slashes down with his Flatblade on the hurlock, cutting into its dagger arm, and circling around to the right, as Ser Jory cuts at it in front with a Might Blow.

The Tranquil cuts with his Flateblade and incises into the hurlocks spine, through the metal interlocking plates.

The Darkspawn lets out a last dying shriek, as Ser Jory cuts off its head in a fountain of blood. The Knight backs away from the gushing body in fear, knowing full well the Taint which dwelt in it.

Alim leaps away from the body, stepping just shy of the claw trap arrayed underneath the piles of loose leaves and dirt.

Alistair walks out from behind the barrier, a sincere smile on his face, covered in Darkspawn blood. He looks at the Tranquil. "So, you enjoy blowing things up I take it?"

Alim stares. "It is an effective tool."

Alistair chuckles. "Yeah, I suppose you're right. Still, you use a lot of those."

The Tranquil nods. "Yes, and there are many more Darkspawn here than I had suspected." He surveys the swamp, then turns to Alistair. "There are more around here, aren't there?"

Alistair nods. "Oh, yeah, some in that little camp over there," he points to path beyond the barrier. Then he points back deeper into the marsh, "And much larger contingent right where we need to go."

Alim nods and looks behind him.

Ser Jory and Daveth have only just caught up with the two other men.

"That was insane." Daveth looks at Alim and points. "You are insane."

Alim shakes his head. "No, just Tranquil."

Daveth shakes his head. "I don't care what medical term the Templars or Mages call it, what you have, it's insane."

Alim shrugs. "Take your complaints to the Chantry, Daveth. I am not the one who chose to make myself this way." The elf looks about the Darkspawn encampment, and spies a human corpse. Alim's rifles through the body.

"What are you doing?" Alistair asks.

"Always be sure to check bodies for poulituces or money," Daveth says.

Both Ser Jory and Alistair turn to the Pickpocket and blink.

Alim stands up holding a piece of paper, and scanning it. "Apparently there is a spirit here which can be summoned by throwing dust on the mound on top that hill." The Tranquil points to the left of the party at a nearby hill, right in the direction of the old compound.

"Summon a spirit? You mean like a demon?" Ser Jory raises and eyebrow at the elf.

Alistair scratches his chin and walks over to Alim, reading the note over the elf's shoulder. "So, a lost love story...hrm, betrayal...Gazerath comes when the dust on the mound is disturbed... yup! This is how to summon a demon. Or at least, one that already seems to exist on our plane, if the story is true."

Alim looks up at Alistair. "You aren't in favor of leaving the Spirit alone?"

Alistair shrugs. "Ya know, we could, and we do have pressing matters here in the forest, buuuuuut," The blonde man says, drawing his longsword next to his face and grinning down at the elf. "The Templar in me is screaming 'you have a sacred duty to rid the world of demons!' And I generally listen to that part of me when it comes to things like this. Also, you never know, there might be some loot to get from its corpse."

Alim raises an eyebrow. "I didn't know demons left corpses when they died in our realm."

Alistair shrugs. "I don't know how to explain it, but you'll find residue of _something_ wherever they die." The Templar steps forward. "Now, shall we?" He nudges his head towards the mound on the hill.

Alim nods. "Aye," and readys his Flatblade.

"You can't be serious."

The Tranquil and The Templar turn around.

"We're not going up there to fight a demon, that's suicide!" Daveth shakes his head.

Alistair sighs. "Daveth, you'll be fighting a lot more than just demons once you're a Warden."

Ser Jory steps forward. "With all due respect, commander, isn't this just a deterant from our mission?"

Alistair nods at Ser Jory. "And with all due respect returned, Ser Jory, no it's not a part of our mission, but there's no reason we can't just take care of it now. Don't worry," he points to Alim and himself. "We've got plenty of anit-spirit combat expertise between just the two of us. If you pick it off with your arrows, Daveth, and Ser Jory helps Alim and I with killing the damn thing, we'll be fine." He turns around. "Now, lets not waste any more time."

Daveth whispers to Ser Jory. "I think calling him 'commander' went to his head."

Ser Jory shakes his head at the Pickpocket. "I think you just talk to much."

"I think you both talk too much," Alim says to the two men as he strolls up the hill.

The two Recruits stare at each other, then at their fellows walking up the hill, and grudingly follow after, grumbling about the taxing work of being a Warden.

()()()()()()()(

"See, what'd I tell you?" Alistair holds up the _Enchanter's Footing_ boots and hands them to Alim.

Alim turns the footwear over in his hands and blinks. "This defies everything I would have thought about demons." He pulls off both of his shoes and kneels down next to the new boots. His hands blow blue as he once again performs the transference.

Alistair nods. "Oh, yeah, they can have whole suits of armor inside them, you never know what you'll find in a body. I mean you proved that just a little while ago, but it applies to everything I've noticed."

Alim steps up, and slips his old shoes into the bag at his side, and slides on his new boots, giving them a few quick steps and jumps to get a feel for them.

"Oh, do you like your new boots, Alim?" Alistair says in an effeminate voice and chuckles.

The Tranquil twirlds about. "They are quite nimble, I must say."

Daveth and Ser Jory look on in silence and stare at the two men, neither saying a word.

"Well," Alistair says, clapping his hands. "Just got one more hill to go, and then we get the treaties."

Ser Jory steps up. "Finally, we can leave this Maker forsaken place."

Daveth looks out at the hill. "It's not that far, but are there any Darkspawn, commander?"

Alistair nods, moving towards the edge of the hill, looking out behind a convenient pillar, jutting up from the ground. "Bad news is, they have an Alpha." He squints at the Darkspawn, awaiting their prey, in formation. "Good news is though, they don't have an Emissary." He turns back to Alim. "You think you can do some stealthing?"

Alim looks up at Alistair. "I have some skill, but not a great deal of it, what would you need me to do?"

Alistair points at a hurlock, straggling away from the group. "Daveth, is goning to pull it over here. I want you," he points to Alim. "To take the path from this mound, across to where he is now," Alistair pulls out a Firebomb grenade from his pouch. "And toss this at the Alpha and his mates. We'll come charging in and save the day, just like before."

Alim takes the grenade and eyes it. "This won't be as powerful as my Fire rune," he says, turning the orange liquid in the flask over and over, holding down the quark at the top with an iron grip. "But it'll do."

Alistair nods. "Good. Alright, then, Daveth?"

"Yes, commander?"

"Peg the hurlock a few times, then fall back to here behind the pillar. He should follow you, or come across the hill. We'll be waiting here when he comes."

"Right." The Pickpocket moves down the hill into position.

The hurlock archer on the hill spots Daveth, and from its throat comes a grunt and what sounds like a chuckle, as it pulls back its bow.

"Not this time, mate." The Pickpocket says, releasing his arrow at the creature and pegging it right in the neck.

The hurlock staggers back.

"Daveth," Alistair whispers.

The Pickpocket trots back behind the pillar with his comrades, and sure enough, the hurlock archer follows after him, and as soon as it turns the corner gets a face full of greatswords from Alim and Ser Jory, cutting the creature in the stomach and the neck respectively.

"Alright, good." Alistair turns to Alim, once the darkspawns body hits the ground. "Now, if you get caught, don't worry, just throw the 'nade, and we'll charge in."  
Alim shakes his head at Alistair, and then smiles his listless smile. "You forget, commander, I feel no worry." And steps down the hill, creeping across the outer edges. He squats low against the grass, the smell of the bog peet filling his nostrils, peering at the small contingent of Darkspawn. The grenade in his hands sits between his fingers, and Alim squints at the hurlock Alpha sitting amidst his comrades in the center, two hurlocks and a third straggler to the left of the Alpha.

It would mean being seen, and likely drawing the attention of all the monsters to him by breaking his stealth, but pegging the Alpha is the best option, Alim knows. If he could do it from this distance, he would. 'I will need to practice throwing these from a distance if I get the chance later,' he thinks. He grips his Flatblade with his left hand, like a spear parallel to the ground, and runs at the monsters. He lets out no battle roar, but runs as fast as he can towards the unit.

The Alpha, sensing the presence of a non-Darkspawn, immediately turns to the elf and points Alim out to his comrades. The other hurlocks in unison snap their heads to Alim's position and let out their screams, red auras not disimilar from Barta's Berserker fury, surround the many hurlocks.

Then Alim throws the grenade.

As he suspected, not quite as powerful as his Runes, but still, nothing to turn a nose up at.

The two hurlocks with the Alpha fly back, landing on the grass in a heap, while the Alpha steps from the flames and glares at the elf from behind his helmet. He points to the straggler hurlock, then points to Alim. The straggler pulls out its mace and shield and charges.

"Huraaaaaaah!" Comes the scream of the incoming cavalry, Alistair at the lead.

The Alpha turns immediately to the charging Templar and gesticulates madly, screaming at the top of its lungs, and pulls out the giant cleaving axe from its back. The two hurlocks behind him Rally to his call, and charge with him at the incoming cavalry.

Alim though has his hands full with the mace and shield hurlock.

Immediately the darkspawn bunts the elf with his shield, knocking Alim back, but not off of his feet, and then goes for second hit with his mace, disorienting the elf by hitting him heavy in the shoulder.

Alim takes several steps back from the hurlock, never turning away from it, and swings at the mace hand, hoping to sunder the weapon from the hurlock.

The creature steps aside and laughs at the elf, baring its teeth in a horrendous smile and letting spittle fly from its maw.

Alim stares, then kicks the creature Below the Belt, jarring the beast. It clearly did not expect that, and then while it's distracted, Alim grabs some swamp marsh from the ground and hurls it at the creatures head, stunning it.

The hurlock, briefly comotose does nothing as Alim steps behind it and cuts down its back with the Flatblade, opening the creatures spine with gushing red viscous liquid.

The darkspawn awakens instantly and spins about going for another swipe with its mace, only for Alim to duck under it.

The Tranquil brings the Flatblade down heavy, in a Deadly Strike that cuts down the creature's skull, breaking it open.

The hurlock sputters a moment down at Alim, then the elf pulls out his greatsword, and the creature falls to the ground.

Alim pants, his throat dry, and turns around to see that the battle with the Alpha and his minions is not going as well as hoped.

Alistair is now the only one fighting the Alpha, not a bad thing, unless you note how ruined the Templar's shield is by now from blocking the wicked looking axe's blade. Ser Jory is chasing the two still burning hurlocks, while Daveth falls back to launch a single arrow, pegging one of them in the leg.

Alim looks back over to Alistair. The Templar cuts low and stuns the Alpha with his longsword, butting the creature with his shield, to which the Alpha consistently blocks with the pommel of his axe.

Alim turns back to Daveth and Ser Jory, then back to Alistair. "Do you need help?"

Alistair grunts dodging under the axe of the Alpha. "No go help them. I've got this!" He dodges the axe one more time.

Alim turns back to Ser Jory and Daveth, then back to Alistair and the Alpha. He draws his Flatblade, and charges behind the Alpha, cutting at from behind.

The Alpha spins about and swings at Alim.

The elf rolls under the wide sway of the Alpha's axe, and gives it a kick at the knees of the creature, making it buckle. 'This is an effective method of attack,' Alim thinks.

Alistair seizing the moment cuts under ot he helmet at the barely revealed neck of the beast, spraying its blood across his face. "I thought I ordered you to help them?"

Alim buts the Alpha helmet off, revealing the face of the hurlock beneath.

The creature gets up and lunges at Alim.

The Tranquil dodges to the right and stabs deep into the neck of the creature where Alistair had already cut, and like the needle sword it is, Alim's Flateblade cuts into the spine of the creature, severing its connection to the mortal world. It falls to the ground like a doll.

Alim turns to Alistair. "You did, but you are a friend. Therefore, you take prescendence and have a higher placement in The Rules."

Alistair squints down at the elf. "You were bizarre before your Tranquility, weren't you?"

Alim shrugs. "People have told me that." Then the Tranquil points to Ser Jory and Daveth. "But we should take care of those idiots."

Neither of the hurlocks are dead, Daveth is fighting with this two daggers, and Ser Jory is clearly winded from all the running.

Alistair nods. "You're right. Shall we?" He boredly inclines his head.

Alim nods. "We shall."

It ends quickly.

()()()()()()()()()(

Inside the Grey Warden ruin, scavenging amidst the wreckage, the four men wander about the ancient stone, looking for a chest and the treaties Duncan sent them to retrieve.

"I don't get it, shouldn't the chest be...obvious looking?" Daveth glances about the ruin. "Like big, made of some heavily enchanted ancient material, like something out of the legends? Wouldn't it be easy to spot, then?"

"If it was destroyed when the building collapsed that would be...problematic," The Tranquil says, squatting on the ground. The debris all looks the same. Had the years gone by, nearly a milennia, eaten away at everything that was inside this once great ruin?

"Keep looking. Even if we find the box and the treaties aren't there, we have to confirm it for Duncan," Alistair says, his voice more firm at the mention of the Warden Commander.

Ser Jory says nothing. The Knight is almost beyond caring at this point, which is why he doesn't feel the brush of wind, or hear the flapping wings of a hawk landing on a stone nearby, too engrossed with his task.

Alim continues plouging through the stone, upturning rocks as he crawls across the floor, when he sees a set of broken stone a different color from the rest.

Red, like a dirt or clay heated with pressure, a fine disign of curling branches on the outside; the chest had been shattered years ago it seems.

"Well, well, what have we here?" A voice, a new one, lithe, velvet in fact and more importantly...

Alim turns around to the sound of the intrusion and draws his Flatblade.

A woman in black, an obvious magic staff strapped to her back, standing next to the pillars, propped high above the men. She glances at The Templar, then back at the elf. She barely spares Ser Jory and Daveth even a look. "Are you a vulture perhaps? Savenger's picking the bones of a corpse long forgotten?" She steps down and meets the men at their level and stares hungrily at the contingent, her eyes like a hunter toying with her meal.

"Scavenging would be a word to describe our purpose here," Alim says, moving ahead of the group to stand before the woman in black. "But we scavenge what is rightfully ours."

"Ours? Truly? Do you think you own these rocks?" She stamps her foot over the moss ridden stone. "Or perhaps you think you own my Wilds, and everything else that dwells in it?" She crosses her arms, pressing the cloth draped across her chest against her chest.

Alim stares. "I do not own anything." The Tranquil steps forward to the woman. "You are an apostate?"

"She's a Witch of the Wilds, she'll turn us into toads!"

The woman smirks at Daveth's reaction, and then looks back at the Tranquil. "I am me, that is all you need to know." She steps forward.

Alim raises his Flatblade. "Are you a Chasind?"

She stops and frowns at the elf. "You are afraid barbarians will swoop down upon you?"

"No," Alim says, staring at the woman in black with his Flatblade poised and level at her neck. "I merely wish to know."

"I hardly think I need to answer to you, after all," she says turning to Alistair. "I do not think it is you who is in charge of this excursion." She walks past the Tranquil and the rest of the group and stands upon the hill overlooking the swamp, and props herself upon a tree.

Alistair steps forward. "My friend's question stands, who are you?"

The woman in black smirks at the Templar. "Tell me your name, and I shall tell you mine."

Alim looks up to Alistair.

The Templar glances at the Tranquil, then back at the woman in black. "Alistair, do you know what happened to the treaties in that chest?" He points to the broken chest.

She laughs. "You may call me, Morrigan. As to your treaties, I know where they are, but t'was not I who took them."

Alim steps forward. "Then who took them?"

"T'was my mother," Morrigan says.

"Can you take us to her?" Alim asks.

She raises an eye brow at the elf. "My but you were so hostile earlier, why would I want to take you anywhere, least of all to my mother's?"

The Tranquil steps forward, brandishing his Flatblade at the woman in black. "Those treaties are Grey Warden property. I suggest you return them, or you take us to your mother now."

Morrigan frowns again at Alim. "And what makes you think I would help you with such a hostile attitude, little elf? Invoking names which have no meaning anymore will not get you anywhere. You cannot threaten me."

Alim reaches into his robe to grab his Earth rune, but Alistair stops him and shakes his head.

The Templar looks up at Morrigan. "I'm sorry, my friends and I have been in this swamp long enough. If you're willing, can you take us to your mother?"

Morrigan puts a finger to her chin. "You're a bit more sensible than I would has suspected for one of your kind, Templar." She looks down at the elf. "And he, just a bit more rude than I would have expected for one of his." She glances at the sun mark on Alim's forehead and snears. "But very well, I will show you the way. Follow me."

Daveth shakes his head. "We're not really going to follow her, are we? She'll turn us into toads, I tell you!"

"Come on, Daveth," Alistair says. He falls into step behind Morrigan.

Alim follows.

"But-"

Ser Jory butts the back of the Pickpocket. "If the witches hut is any warmer than this forest, it'd be a nice change." Ser Jory follows Alim.

Daveth looks at The Knight as though betrayed, and slugs behind his fellows.

()()()()()()()()(

Immediately, as the men make their way behind The Witch, and they step into the slope leading down to the thatched hut of her mother, Alim is aware they've stepped into a realm distorted by the powers of Magic. It could have been overlooked, much the swamp is coated in magical energy, but his familiarity with spatial distortion techniques marks the first step into The Witches home like a step into The Fade, and the domain of a greater demon. Something the Tranquil hasn't done in three years, but his memory is still strong enough to recall what it was like.

A glance at Alistair the moment the signs come into sight confirms what he suspects.

The Templar nods to the Tranquil. They both know...

They have entered the Spider's lair.

What awaits them is an old woman, ragged matted hair, and patchy splotches of skin covering her face. She is standing stoically still, staring off into the distance, her eyes never leaving the horizon.

Morrigan steps forward, taking her place next to the old woman. "Mother, I bring with me four Grey Wardens who-"

"I can see just fine, girl." The old woman snaps at her daughter. She pours her eyes over the men, much as Morrigan did, barely glancing at Ser Jory and Daveth, takes a hard look at Alistair, rests her eyes on Alim and squints hard. "Well, you are not what I was expecting."

Alim raises an eyebrow at the old woman. "You were expecting us?"

Old woman cackles. "Was I? I'm not sure sometimes. Maybe I was expecting you to be a bronto? We've repeated this so often, I've begun to think every time will be the same, but as always," she looks up at the sky. "It is not I who decides these things."

Alim looks at the old woman and tilts his head. "Then who does decide?"

The old woman looks at the elf and smiles, and when she does, Ser Jory and Daveth shiver, because it is the same smile a demon might give a morsel Mage about to be consumed. "Now that is an interesting question, so much about you little one is uncertain...but I think I believe. Do I?" She turns her head to the right as though conversing with herself and back to the Tranquil. "Well, it seems I do."

Alistair lifts a half smile and raises an eyebrow at Alim. "So this is a dreaded Witch of the Wilds?"

"Witch of the Wilds, eh? Did Morrigan tell you that? She fancies such legends, though she would never admit it herself. Oh, how she dances under the Moon, oh ha ha ha."

Morrigan puts a hand to her face and rubs her forehead. "They did not come to hear your wild tales, mother."

"True, they came for their treaties, and don't worry," the old woman says, handing the treaties to Alim and Alistair. "Your Grey Warden seals wore off long ago. I have protected these."

"You protected them?" Alim raises an eye brow down at the scroll in his hands, then back at the old woman.

"I have. Go and tell your superiors that this Blight is more of threat than they realize."

Alim looks down at the parchment in his hands, then back at the old woman, then at Alistair.

The Templar looks at his smaller companion then at the old woman. "Thank you very much for this."

The old woman smiles at Alistair. "My such manners, and always in the last place you expect them, like stockings, oh ho ho ho." Her smiles becomes a feral grin. "Time for you to go then."

"Yes, time to leave," says Morrigan.

"Do not be ridiculous, girl. These are your guests." The old woman gestures with her hand to her daughter.

Morrigan sighs. "Very well, then, follow me."

The four men follow the woman in black out of the swamp. Right before they leave, Alim takes one last look at the old woman.

She's gone, and the swamp is empty save for the lone hut.

The Spider did not want them for a meal.

But it clearly wanted them for something.

()()()()()()()(

Duncan is staring into the fire pit when the Recruits return from their appointed task. He is looking so hard into the flames he does not seem to notice the men walking up to him.

"Duncan!" Alistair shouts.

The Warden Commander turns, his staring contest with the flames broken. "Alistair, were you sucessful in your mission?"

"We were. We found the treaties, and well..." Alistair looks at Alim.

Alim looks up at the Warden Commander. "Duncan, there witches in the swamp, they apparently preserved the scrolls for the order."

Duncan raises an eye brow. "Witches you say?"

Alistair nods. "We think they might be apostates hiding from the Chantry, but we weren't set on making enemies of them."

Duncan nods at the Templar. "A good thing that you did not. Anyone who was willing to protect these is an ally we cannot afford to anger. To that end," The Warden Commander says, turning to the other Recruits. "We should proceed to the Joining immediately. Give me the vials you collected."

The Recruits hand over the Darkspawn blood they earned.

Duncan nods at the vials in his hand. "Very well then, I will warn you all, the Joining is dangerous. We Grey Wardens pay a high price for the power we wield. If you wish to back out now, this is your last chance."

\ Alim shakes his head. "I have no intention of leaving after all of that."

"I agree," says Ser Jory. "Let's have this done with, sir."

Daveth nods. "I'm eager to get it done, meself, to be honest."

Duncan nods at them, then turns to Alistair. "Take them to the Temple."

Alistair bows, crossing his arms over his chest. "Yes, Duncan. Follow me, gents."

The Three men follow behind the Templar at an even pace.

Behind them, Duncan returns to staring at the fire. He takes a long look into it, then sighs, following behind the men that he just sent into Wilds, and possibly their death, knowing that none of them might survive The Joining.

()()()()()()()(

It's cold. By now Alim is quite aware that the robes that kept him sufficiently heated in the Tower would have to be enchanted for temperature regulation.

Though he has not complained about it, Daveth's constant shivering, and Ser Jory's pacing only helps to underscore the fact that Fereldan is entering winter. Alistair is the only one of them standing perfectly still, staring off into the distance. The cold doesn't bother him, it seems.

Soon enough though, the silken robes on Alim's back would neither keep Alim warm, and they might even act as a deterant for heat retention. And never mind the robes heating issues, cuts had been made by the Darkspawn into the enchanted armored cloth and it requires repairs, ones he can only get at the Fomarri camp tent. But the Joining would have to come first. No point in making new robes if he doesn't survive this.

"What is taking so long?" Ser Jory asks.

"Are blubbering, again?" Daveth sneers at The Knight.

"I have complained far less than you, Pickpocket. Why are there so many damn tests? Have not proved my worth?"

"Maybe it's tradition. Maybe Duncan's just trying to annoy you."

Alim says nothing, but looks at The Templar.

Alistair does not meet his gaze.

"All I know, Daveth, is that I have a wife in Highever with a child. If I'd known that the Grey Wardens would put me through all this...it just doesn't seem fair." The Knight shakes his head.

"Nothing in life is fair," The Tranquil says in monotone to the two men. "You'd both best get used to that idea."

Daveth looks down at the elf. "We've been used to it all our lives, but what Ser Jory doesn't get is that the Grey Wardens require sacrifice for thier order. I mean, after all, Ser Knight, would you have joined if you'd known what was coming before hand?"

"I-I-"  
"Maybe you'll die, maybe we'll all die. If no one fights The Darkspawn we'll all die for sure."

Alim nods at that. "This is true. Perhaps in such context, the secrecy the Wardens keep is necessary."

Ser Jory shakes his head. "I've just never had to endure so much trial that did not require me to meet a foe with my blade."

Duncan's sliding sandals dragging across the stone of the Temple announces his prescence. "Is all in order?"  
The three men nod.

"Very good." Duncan walks over to a silver chalice sitting on top of a chipped and broken stone pedestal. "The Grey Warden's were founded during the first Bilght. It was in this conflict that they drank of Darkspawn blood," The Warden Commander says, turning to the men. "And mastered their Taint."

Ser Jory balks back. "We're going to drink the blood...of those creatures?"

Duncan nods. "Yes, this is the source of power and our victory."  
Alistair looks at the three men. "Those who survive are immune to the Taint. It gives us the ability to sense the Darkspawn and we can use it to slay the Archdemon."

"Those who survive?" Alim raises an eyebrow.

"Not all who go through the Joining survive, and those who do are forever changed. This is why the Joining is a secret. We speak only a few words before the ritual, but these words have been said since the first." Duncan turns to Alistair.

The Templar nods. "Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be foresworn."

Ser Jory looks at the chalice on the table with anxiety.

"And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten, and that one day, we shall join you."

Duncan nods and lifts the chalice. "Daveth step forward."

The Pickpocket stands in front of the Warden Commander. The look in his eyes is that of a man before the gallows, having known his crime long ago, ready to accept the fate that he knew was coming. He takes the chalice and sips. At first there is nothing.

Then the screaming starts.

Daveth grabs his head. "Ughhhaaaaah!" Clutching it for all his life, something in his head, something yelling at his mind, demanding his obedience. He claws and scratches at his throat as he begins to cough, and slowly falls to the ground.

Duncan shakes his head. "I am sorry, Daveth."

Daveth collapses, dead.

Duncan moves, as though he too is a Tranquil, to Ser Jory, who has already drawn his sword. "Ser Jory, step forward."

"No! You ask to much!" The man back away from The Warden Commander, at first moving to the pillars, and then quickly veering away, not wanting to be pinned by the Grey Warden.

"There is no going back," Duncan says, pulling out a dagger from his belt.

"You ask too much! There is no glory in this" The man screams, swinging his sword.

Duncan blithely steps aside, but keeps his hold on the chalice, deflecting the man's sword strikes with deft ease.

Ser Jory makes a desperate cut at The Warden Commander, and knocks the dagger out of Duncan's hands.

The Warden Commander clutches the chalice, and is about to throw the sand from the stone in to Jory's eyes, when a piercing noise interupts their fight. The sound of a blade piercing flesh.

Alim's Flatblade rests inside Ser Jory's chest, and for a moment the Knight stares down at the blade inside of him, and gasps.

"Pam." His last word, before Alim removes the blade, and Jory collapses.

Alim looks down at the corpse of the Knight and shakes his head. He stands before The Warden Commander, sheathes his blade and out stretches his hands. "I am ready, Duncan."

The Warden Commander nods, handing the chalice to Alim. "You have been chosen to submit yourself to the Taint for the greater good. From this moment on, Alim, you are a Grey Warden."

The Tranquil takes the chalice, and sips, silently, of the Darkspawn blood, and in the moment he does he loses control of his body.

Owain once described to him the process of becoming a Tranquil as being dipped in a pool of ice cold water. When Alim went through it, he realized that the Tranquil human was referring to the numbness that over comes one once the Rite is done. By contrast then, Alim would tell anyone else who would ask him later, that the Joining is like being dipped in lava, and every ounce of it filling you, while your skin does not melt, but holds against the molten feeling moving through his insides, burning away everything that is a part of him.

He blacks out.

()()()()()()()(

In his mind, Alim sees a yellow velvet sky, a smoking green malaise that he has not witnessed in three years, and a black cliff, over looking the hills of the Fade. Upon that cliff, flapping its enormous wings, is a molted, black and red Dragon. It's flesh is rotted, and its eyes are a hallow yellow save for the malice that glows behind them. It lets out a roar, and Alim knows that the creature is aware of him. It sees him. It knows him. It calls to him, and Alim knows, that despite his trepidation, he wants to answer that call.

()()()()()()()(

When he opens his eyes, Duncan and Alistair are standing over him, staring down into his eyes.

The Warden Commander inclines his head. "How do you feel?"

The Tranquil stands up, looks at his now fellow Wardens and nods his head. "I'm fine."

The Warden Commander nods. "That is good."

Alistair shakes his head. "Two deaths. Only one died at my Joining, but it was...horrible. I'm glad to see you made it through."

Alim says nothing, but clenches his fists.

"Oh, there's another thing. When we're done with our Joining we take some of the blood and put it into a pendant. Something to remember the others who didn't make it." Alistair hands the red pendant to Alim.

The Tranquil takes the pendant, but still says nothing, staring ahead at the horizon.

Alistair raises an eye brow. "Are you sure you're alright?"

"I'm fine."

Duncan turns to Alistair. "He's been through a lot, Alistair. Wait for me at the fire," The Warden Commander says.

"Yes, Duncan." The Templar looks back at the elf, who continues to stare forward into space, his eyes never leaving the exact horizontal plane of his eyes. The Templar shakes his head and leaves the Temple.

Duncan's eyes follow Alistair the entire way, then turns back to Alim.

The Tranquil still has not moved.

This does not deter the Warden Commander. "When you are ready, the King would like you to sit in on the War Council. There are instructions he would like to give you."

Alim's head turns slightly, and barely nods at Duncan.

The Warden Commander turns around and leaves.

Once Duncan has left, Alim's grip on the pendant slowly loosens, till it falls to the ground, and The Tranquil follows with it, landing on his hands and knees and holding himself up by his arms, staring into the stone of the Temple floor.

'Tranquil do not dream,' he thinks to himself. He tries to push himself up, but the quaking in his arms is too much for him, and so he crouches his forehead onto the stone floor, breathing heavy, as though the air he gets now is his last. He pushes himself onto his knees and leans back. 'Tranquil feel no fear,' he thinks to himself. He clutches his arms to his sides and rocks back and forth, enveloped in a feeling he thought was denied to him by the Rite three years ago. He starts to shake, his body spasming from the memory of what he just saw, of the thing that came into his dreams.

'Tranquil do not dream!' He yells in his mind. He stands up, his body still now, if only from sheer force of willpower to quell it. He puts the pendant on his neck, and feels the heavy weight of the red stone there. He breathes heavy, and looks down at his trembling hands, unable to comprehend either what he just saw, or the change that he knows has happened to him, and that he will never be able to go back to who he was, again.

_Authors notes: Whelp, this took longer than expected. I know this thing is a lot of combat, and people can find that kind of thing tedious in Fiction, and I agree. On the other hand, I love Dragon Age's combat system, and I really just wanted to show case a lot of Alim's talents, so people could get a feel for what kind of Rogue he is._

_I also wanted to use this chapter to show case my perspective on healing as it functions in the game in relation to magic. Now, some people have fiction where healing takes a long time, wounds can only be hastened in terms of healing, but at the same time Magic can call down thunder storms, infernal tornadoes, earthquakes, all kinds of weird shit...but healing is some how not much better than our world. Well Bollocks to that, I'm not even British and I still think that's lame. Expect more bizarre wounds, lacerations, and injuries to be a bit more severe and almost Dali-esque in terms of how they're healed. Believe me, it's only gonna get weirder from here on out._

_Now I want to be clear, Alim is Tranquil. But the Taint has effects on people that I don't think many of studied, much less on the Tranquil themselves. I wouldn't be surprised if they still had their "Fight or Flight" sub systems, because those are evolutionary constructs of our biology, rather than an emotion we feel. And in all honesty, I just love seeing the Archdemon in my dreams, and I wasn't interested in dropping that from this fiction. I think it's much more interesting to see how Alim adapts to the idea that he can still feel certain symptoms of fear, withotu necessarily being afraid himself._

_And yes, if you haven't guessed it by now, I'm basing this Alim on having Autism, Apergers, to a degree. You'll see more of it as the fiction goes on, but this primarily why I think he still has more free will than the average Tranquil, his inherent distance from emotions as a youth made him better able to function without them, once he fully lost them. The question we'll see is what will he do once he gets them all back._

_Anyway,_

_See you guys next time._

_Konous_


End file.
